Star Wars: Land and Sky Episode I Happy Endings
by Lionchilde
Summary: This fic explores the possibility that Qui-Gon Jinn was injured on Naboo while attempting to rescue Queen Amidala from the Trade Federation. As such, Qui-Gon is forced to remain on the ship while Obi-Wan accompanies Padme and friends to Mos Espa. Obidala
1. A Fortuitous Arrival

Author's Introduction:

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Although it is serious, _Land and Sky_ has the same overall feel and tone as my Stargate story, _The Games People Play. _ There are elements of drama and romance here, but where my main Star Wars project, _One Path, _ is often extremely harrowing, this fic endeavors to be more lighthearted. In some ways, although I didn't initially intend for this to happen, _Land and Sky_ is a response to _One Path. _ It incorporates several ideas, events, and plotlines that were simply not possible to accomplish in _One Path. _

As with _One Path_, my respect for the world created by George Lucas compels me to maintain the integrity of his characterizations here, and to follow the events laid out in the canon saga unless the single point of divergence which spawned the AU logically changes those events. In cases where changes occur, they will be approached in a way that is respectful of the intent of Star Wars and the characters created by Lucas. The major themes of Star Wars will be represented here, but in ways that are not quite so similar to canon events as I was able to do in _One Path. _

This fic explores the possibility that Qui-Gon Jinn was injured on Naboo while attempting to rescue Queen Amidala from the Trade Federation. As such, Qui-Gon is forced to remain on the ship while Obi-Wan accompanies Padme and friends to Mos Espa. See my Author page for the full notes and additional information.

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Chronicler's Introduction by Inalia Kenobi

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The Ka'andesi clans have a tradition about souls. They say that a soul is made both of the Force and the land, because the Force shapes the land, and then the growing things, the running things, and the birds of the air in turn shape the Force. So when a creature is born, his soul is the Force that mingles with the land who bore him. The land is in his soul, and he cannot forget it.  
The Ka'andesi also say that souls can be tied together. By returning to Inal, the place of belonging, a Ka'andesi may tie her soul to another and in doing so tie their lands together. In this way, marriages are made among the clan, weaving spirit to spirit and giving the wanderer a place to call his own. This is also the way that sisters can be made out of two who come from different mothers.  
Yet there are those whose souls need no such tie. Among the Ka'andesi, these are called _ktal'teanaki_—beings whose souls are so closely linked that they might be called two aspects of the same thing. Each are unique, each are separate from one another. They are not the two halves of something, each alone and searching for completion. They are two of the same, like the clans themselves, and in finding one another, they find _Inal_ within themselves.

In finding a mate, one finds completion. In finding a sister or a brother, one finds clan. In finding _ktal'teanaki,_ one finds home.

All of these, together, mean Ka'andesi, and Ka'andesi means new hope.

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_Grasping hands are often cut off; giving hands are rewarded.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

Padme's pulse raced with a mix of fear and anger as she descended the palace steps, but thus far, careful discipline and the kick of adrenaline in her bloodstream had enabled her to remain clearheaded. Surrounded by battle droids, Padme and the handmaidens made their way silently down the palace steps behind Sabe, who was already in her role as decoy. Governor Sio Bibble walked alongside Sabe, putting on a commendably brave face in the midst of the invasion. Though she kept her eyes on the ground in front of her, she was keenly following the discussion between the governor and the Trade Federation's self-serving Neimoidian Viceroy, Nute Gunray.

"How will you explain this invasion in the Senate?" the governor demanded roughly.

"The Naboo and the Trade Federation will sign a treaty that will legitimize our occupation of Theed. I have been assured that such a treaty, once produced, will be quickly ratified by the Senate," Gunray replied without concern.

"A treaty?" Sio Bibble exclaimed. "In the face of this completely unlawful action?"

"I will not cooperate!" Sabe interrupted firmly.

"Now, now, Your Highness," Gunray purred. "Don't be too hasty with your pronouncements. You are not going to like what we have in store for your people. In time, their suffering will persuade you to see our point of view."

The very offhandedness of the comment sent a chill through Padme, but the Viceroy had already turned away, dismissing the Naboo as if the people and culture of the planet he was invading had no value to him whatsoever. In fact, they probably didn't. He beckoned toward one of his battle droids. "Commander?"

It stepped forward, narrow metal snout lowering slightly in acknowledgement as it awaited further instructions. "Yes, sir."

"Process them," the viceroy ordered coldly.

The droid signaled for one of its sergeants to take over, metallic voice directing that the prisoners be taken to Camp Four.

"Roger-roger," the sergeant replied.

With that, the battle droids herded Padme, her handmaidens, Governor Bibble, Captain Panaka, who was the head of the Queen's personal security force, and the remaining guards out of the room. The group hustled through the polished stone halls and outside of the palace to where a series of terraced steps led them through statuary and buttress work to a broad, flat, sunlit plaza. The plaza was normally bustling with people. Now, it was filled with Federation tanks and battle droids, and not a single Naboo was in sight. Padme forced herself to keep looking, though her most earnest desire was to close her eyes against the presence of the invading army which was set on destroying her home, her people, and their way of life.

The tanks were squat, shovel-nosed vehicles with their main cannon mounted on a turret above and behind the cockpit. Smaller blasters were set low on either side. They reminded the young queen distinctly of foraging beetles as they edged about the plaza's perimeter. Beyond them, the buildings of Theed stretched away toward the horizon, a vast sprawl of high stone walls, gilded domes, peaked towers, and sculpted archways. Sunlight bathed the gleaming edifices, whose architecture was in perfect counterpoint to the lush green natural beauty of the planet. The rush of waterfalls and bubble of fountains formed a soft, distant backdrop to the strange silence created by the absence of the populace.

No one spoke as the prisoners were marched across the plaza. Even Governor Bibble had gone silent, his gray- bearded head lowered in dark contemplation. They reached the end of the plaza and turned down a broad avenue that led to the outskirts of the city, where the newly constructed Trade Federation detention camps awaited them. STAP-2's hummed overhead, their menacing shadows flitting off the walls of the buildings, metal shells gleaming as they darted away. Padme tried not to watch them, or to think about what the presence of these invading machines would soon mean to the people that she had been elected to lead. She moved her eyes downward and kept her gaze focused on the ground in front of her, concentrating only on placing one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly, the procession halted, and she jerked her head up just in time to see two men leap from a walkway above into the path of the advancing droids. Her breath caught as the blue and green blades in their hands began to cut down the battle droids. They moved so fast that she could hardly follow their actions. They cut down the droids in a matter of seconds, then the older of the two gestured gallantly to Sabe.

"We should leave the streets, Your Highness," he said.

As the pair ushered the queen's entourage up another flight of steps and into the alleyway beyond, Padme heard Captain Panaka order his men to take the fallen droids' blasters. Once the group was safely hidden in the alley, Padme took a breath and allowed herself a moment to evaluate their rescuers. Both wore loose robes over belted tunics. The taller had long, graying brown hair, while the shorter one's hair was close cropped and cut to a thin braided pigtail. He was now standing directly beside her, close enough that she could have brushed his robe with her fingertips, and she felt oddly warm at the proximity. His blue-green eyes caught hers, widening slightly as he realized that she was studying him. She felt her cheeks flush and was glad of the hood, which at least partially concealed her face. Hurriedly, she turned her attention to his companion, who was already addressing Sabe.

"Your Highness, I am Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my Apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said with a gesture toward the Padawan. "We are ambassadors for the Supreme Chancellor."

"Your negotiations seem to have failed, Ambassador," remarked up Sio Bibble.

"The negotiations never took place," the Jedi replied. "It is urgent that we make contact with the Republic."

"They've knocked out all our communications," Captain Panaka spoke up.

"Do you have transports?" Qui-Gon asked.

The captain, nodded quickly. "In the main hangar. This way."

He led the little group to the end of the alleyway, where they crossed to other passageways and back streets, encountering no one. They moved quickly and silently through the growing sound of alarms and the wicked buzz of STAPs.

A series of connected buildings dominated one end of a broad causeway, each one domed and cavernous, the central structures warded by arched entrances and low, flat-walled outbuildings. Battle droids were stationed everywhere, weapons held at the ready, but Captain Panaka was able to find an unguarded approach down a narrow corridor between adjoining buildings. At a side door to the main hangar, Panaka brought the group to a halt. After a quick glance over his shoulder for droids, he unlocked and nudged open the hangar door.

"There are too many of them," he said as he moved back.

Qui-Gon too eased back from the door. "That won't be a problem," he said as he turned to face Sabe. "Your Highness. Under the circumstances, I suggest you come to Coruscant with us."

The decoy shook her head, already knowing what her mistress's response to that statement would be. "Thank you, Ambassador, but my place is with my people."

"They will kill you if you stay," Qui-Gon replied with such calm dispassion that a chill traveled up Padme's spine. He spoke the words as if he were saying that the sky was blue or that the sun was warm this afternoon. She shifted her gaze from him to the younger Jedi, Obi-Wan, seeking confirmation, and she found it in the resolute set of his jaw. Oddly, his expression seemed to be both a mirror of Qui-Gon's calm and the exact opposite of it. His countenance was cool and without fear, like his Master's, but beneath the calm, she detected an intensity that the other lacked. Hurriedly, she moved her eyes away again, but she felt him look at her, and the touch of his eyes warmed her skin as if it were the brush of his fingers…or his breath.

She shook away the thought, bringing her mind back to the situation at hand. Sio Bibble and Captain Panaka were already arguing with Qui-Gon's assertion that the Trade Federation would kill their queen. Logically speaking, she agreed with them. The Federation needed Queen Amidala to sign their treaty in order to legitimize the occupation of Theed.

Qui-Gon remained resolute. "The situation here is not what it seems. There is something else going on, Your Highness. There is no logic to the Federation's actions. My feelings tell me they will destroy you."

Sio Bibble began to waver, but Padme had made her decision even before the governor began to speak. Something in the manner of both Jedi was too certain to dismiss, and Qui-Gon was undeniably right that the invasion made no real sense from a political perspective.

"Your Highness," the governor was saying. "Perhaps you should reconsider. Our only hope is for the Senate to take our side in this matter. Senator Palpatine will need your help--"

"Getting past their blockade is impossible, Your Highness—even if we were to get off the planet! An escape attempt is too dangerous!" interrupted Panaka.

"Your Highness, I will stay here and do what I can," Sio Bibble countered, shaking his head briefly at Panaka. "They will have to maintain the Council of Governors in order to keep some semblance of order. But you must leave--!"

Sabe held up her hand, silencing the debate with a silently regal command. "Either choice presents grave danger," she began, turning toward Padme. "To us all."

"We are brave, Your Highness," Padme replied, her eyes flicking ever so slightly in the direction of Qui-Gon Jinn.

"So be it," said Sabe, turning again. "I will plead our case before the Senate. Be careful, Governor."

The Jedi moved through the side door and into the hangar, leading the way at a fast clip. Panaka strode beside them, jabbing a finger as they moved.

"We'll need to free those men," he said, indicating a group of Naboo being held captive in a corner of the hangar. By their uniforms, Padme could tell that they were a mix of pilots, guards, and mechanics.

"I'll deal with that, Obi-Wan said smoothly, veering toward them while the rest of the group continued toward the ship.

"Halt!" commanded one of the battle droids just before they reached it. A group of them clustered in front of Qui-Gon, blocking their path, but he was undeterred.

"I'm an ambassador for the Supreme Chancellor, and I am taking these people to Coruscant," he said calmly.

"Where are you taking them?" asked the droid, obviously confused.

"To Coruscant," repeated Qui-Gon.

"To Coruscant," the droid echoed. "That does not compute…wait…um…you're under arrest!"

Almost as quickly as it uttered the statement, it was a pile of red-hot, glowing scrap, decimated by Qui-Gon's green blade. The others near them rapidly followed suit, but more rushed toward the ship, firing blasters at the escaping Naboo. Captain Panaka and the rest of the guards closed ranks around Sabe and the handmaidens, shielding them with their bodies as they raced up the boarding ramp.

Padme turned and looked over her shoulder as they moved, trying to keep the Jedi in view. She saw Obi-Wan launch himself at the droids on the far side of the hangar, cutting into them with ferocious determination. He had the prisoners free in a moment and was running back toward his Master with them by the time Padme reached the top of the ramp. Qui-Gon meanwhile was battling back another rush of droids, his lightsaber moving in an amazing show of skill as he deflected their blaster bolts back at them. Then, two of the red bolts flashed past the Jedi's defenses, and the last thing Padme saw as she was herded inside was Obi-Wan leaping to defend his fallen Master…


	2. Safe Haven

  
_It isn't the biggest ship that wins the fight, and it isn't the fastest. It's the ship that's still flying after it's been shot to hell.  
—Honor Among Thieves, by Inalia and Fox Kenobi_

Obi-Wan landed lightly in front of his Master, the weapon in his hand already moving in an elegant S through the air before him. Blaster bolts struck the blue blade and bounced back at the droids which were still firing on them. Then, the Padawan raised his left hand, calling on the Force to push the remaining droids backward. They smashed into one another and collided with the wall, leaving him free to crouch beside Qui-Gon.

"How bad is it?" he asked as he guided his Master's arm around his shoulders.

"I won't be walking for a while," the elder Jedi replied. "Two shots in my right leg."

Obi-Wan nodded, quickly hefting Qui-Gon off the ground. With Qui-Gon leaning heavily on him, he moved up the ramp into the ship's dimly entryway. The ramp rose behind them with a soft _whoosh,_ and he was surprised to see one of the queen's handmaidens appear beside Captain Panaka from further inside the craft. She was the same girl who had been studying him so intensely when they arrived, he realized. As he had when their eyes met earlier, he felt an unfamiliar pull in the Force. For a moment, it made his breath catch, but he shook it off impatiently and shot a hurried glance at Panaka.

"Qui-Gon's been hit!" he said urgently.

"This way," nodded Panaka.

The handmaiden moved to Qui-Gon's left side, slipping under his arm without comment. Together, they followed Panaka into a small room to the right of the main cabin. The captain slid around them and depressed a button on the far wall, causing a flat bunk to slide out toward them. Obi-Wan and the girl helped Qui-Gon onto it, then Panaka strode out again.

"He'll be right back with a medkit," she said, her fingers already moving to grasp the torn edge of the Master's pant leg. She tore the cloth a bit more, freeing it from the area around the blast wounds, then examined them with a clinically professional air that surprised Obi-Wan. "The wounds are clean; burns don't look too bad. We don't have bacta on board, but at least we can clean and bandage it. Master Jedi, you'll need to keep this leg immobilized," she told Qui-Gon pointedly.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow, watching. "You've done this before."

The girl turned toward him, pausing briefly as she realized that her manner must have seemed out of place. "I've never treated blaster wounds, but I worked in a refuge camp when I was younger. I've seen burns before."

Obi-Wan nodded, but before he could actually formulate a response, Panaka returned with the medkit. He quickly took it and set it on a small table beside the cot, then he and the girl set about briskly treating Qui-Gon's leg. The ship began to rock as they were buffeted with canon fire from the Trade Federation blockade, but neither of them paid the turbulence any heed.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said with a wince. "Go and see that everyone is secure. Find out what's going on."

"Yes, Master, as soon as I've seen to you," he replied with a nod.

"Obi-Wan," admonished his teacher.

"I know what is going on out there, Master. We're being shot at by the Trade Federation," he interrupted calmly.

"I'll go," said Panaka swiftly, ducking back out of the room.

"We're almost through here, Master," Obi-Wan murmured in a more appeasing tone.

Qui-Gon fell silent, willing to accept the compromise, though Obi-Wan could tell that his tolerance had more to do with the fact that he had no way to win the argument than that he found the situation tenable. He said nothing, aware that he was already pushing the boundaries of his relationship with his mentor. As his Jedi Master, Qui-Gon had the right to direct him to go, and he understood the elder Jedi's desire for one of them to know exactly what was happening. Qui-Gon was also his closest friend, and he had no intention of leaving before he'd done everything he could to help him.

The ship began to shake with the impact of enemy fire, and he cast a worried glance over his shoulder. Working quickly, he had the handmaiden finished bandaging Qui-Gon's leg, then she rested her hand over his. He looked up at her, startled at the contact, but he stilled the urge to suck in a sharp breath. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, all he saw or thought of was the deep brown of her eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him.

"I'll stay with him. It's all right, you go," she offered.

"Thank you," he managed to say with a quick, cool nod. Then he whirled on his heel and strode from the room. Once the door had slid closed behind him, he paused, closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Unconsciously clenching and unclenching his hands, he made his way through the ship and slipped inside the cockpit.

A huge Trade Federation battleship loomed ahead through the viewport, cannons firing. The Queen's transport was rocked so violently by the blasts that it was thrown from its trajectory. The pilot's gloved hands were locked onto the steering grips, fighting to bring the slender craft back into line.

"We should abort, sir!" the pilot shouted to Obi-Wan, who moved up to brace himself on the back of the pilot's seat. "Our deflector shields can't withstand much more of this!"

"Stay on course," he said, faintly surprised at the calmness of his own voice. "Do you have a cloaking device?"

"This is not a warship!" Captain Panaka snapped, and Obi-Wan could sense the man's sudden anger and feelings of betrayal. "We have no weapons, Ambassador! We're a nonviolent people, which is why the Trade Federation was brave enough to attack us in the first place!"

A series of explosions jarred the craft, and the lights on the control panel flickered weakly. An alarm shrilled loudly. The transport shuddered, giving a high-pitched whine as its power-systems momentarily stalled.

"No weapons," Obi-Wan muttered, massaging his eyes with the tips of his fingers. After a moment's thought, he said, "The Trade Federation uses pulser tracking for its weapons. Spin the ship. It will make it more difficult for them to get a reading on us."

The pilot nodded, flipped a series of levers, and put the Nubian into a slow spin. Ahead, the battleship filled the viewport, then lost focus. The Queen's transport accelerated, racing toward the enemy craft, whipping past towers and gunports, bays and stabilizers, speeding down an alleyway of jagged metal protrusions and cannon fire. Laser bolts hammered into them, causing sparks and smoke to explode from one panel and sending the ship reeling. For a brief moment they tumbled. Then the pilot pulled back hard on the controls, and the hull of the battleship receded.

"Something's wrong," the man announced quietly, fighting the steering. Obi-Wan could feel the ship shudder beneath his feet. "Shields are down!"

They continued to spin, hugging the cavernous shell of the Trade Federation battleship, so close that the larger guns were rendered useless and only the smaller could chance firing at them. Without shields, though even a glancing hit could be disastrous. Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling a thin film of sweat break out on the palms of his hands.

"Sending out the repair crew!" the pilot said as he flipped a lever.

On the viewscreen, an airlock snapped open, and one by one a series of astromech droids popped out of the hatch and onto the transport's hull. The transport straightened and leveled out, and the spinning stopped. The droids motored swiftly across the hull, seeking out the damage as the pilot hugged the battleship's shadow in an effort to protect them.

Unable to bring the weapons of their warship to bear in an effective manner, the Trade Federation command dispatched a squad of starfighters. Small, sleek, robot attack ships, they consisted of twin compartments attached to a rounded, swept-back head. As they roared out of the battleship bays, their compartments opened into long slits that exposed their laser guns. Fast and maneuverable, they had no trouble working close to the battleship's hull. In seconds, they were on top of the transport, weapons firing. The pilot struggled to find cover and gain speed. Two of the R2 units were blown away, one on a direct hit, the second when its hold on the transport hull was shattered.

On the viewscreen, Obi-Wan could still see the blue R2 unit working furiously to connect a series of wires exposed by a damaged hull plate. Laser fire lanced all around it, but it continued its effort without stopping. The fourth droid, working close by, disappeared in a cloud of shattered metal and brilliant fire. Now only the blue unit remained, still busy amid the onslaught of Trade Federation starfighters. Something changed on the cockpit display, and the pilot gave a shout of approval.

"The shields are up! That little droid did it!"

He jammed the thrusters all the way forward, and the transport rocketed away from both the battleship and the starfighters, leaving the Trade Federation blockade behind. When they were well away from any Trade Federation presence, the pilot, who introduced himself as Ric Olie, made a thorough check of the controls, assessing their damage, trying to determine what was needed. Obi-Wan automatically settled into the co-pilot's seat to help. Captain Panaka stood behind them, awaiting their report.

Olie shook his head. "We can't go far. The hyperdrive is leaking."

"We'll have to land somewhere to make repairs to the ship. What's out there?" Obi-Wan asked.

Olie punched up a star chart, and the two men hunched over it. After a few moments of study, Obi-Wan let out a breath. There was only one choice that made any sense. He raised a finger. "Here. Tatooine. It's small, poor, and out of the way. It attracts little attention. The Trade Federation has no presence there."

"How can you be sure?" Captain Panaka asked quickly.

Obi-Wan glanced at him. "It's controlled by the Hutts."

Panaka stared in alarm. "The Hutts?"

"It's risky," Obi-Wan agreed, "but there's no reasonable alternative. "

Captain Panaka was not convinced. "You can't take Her Royal Highness there! The Hutts are gangsters and slavers! If they discovered who she was--"

"It would be no different than if we landed on a planet in a system controlled by the Trade Federation," Obi-Wan interrupted, "except the Hutts aren't looking for the queen, which gives us an advantage."

The Queen's head of security started to say something more, then thought better of it. He took a deep breath instead, frustration etched on his smooth, dark face, and turned away. Obi-Wan watched him sidle out of the cockpit, then looked back at Olie, who was waiting for instructions.

"Set course for Tatooine," he said quietly, then slipped to his feet and went to report to Qui-Gon.

He was confident that he had made the right decision--or at least, that he had chosen the only available option that might afford them a chance of escaping pursuit until the ship had been repaired. He knew that he must trust in the Force to guide them, but although he had no shortage of self-assurance, he was unused to the necessity of making such decisions without Qui-Gon. He was sure that his Master would support the course of action he had chosen, but it was still disconcerting for him not to have Qui-Gon's immediate input--to have the buffer of knowing that the final decision and ultimate responsibility for what happened on this mission lay not with him but with his Master.

The handmaiden was still with Qui-Gon when he entered the room, and she offered him a tentative smile before slipping back toward the door. He returned it politely, keeping his focus firmly on his Master to quell the sudden influx of emotion that the exchange triggered in him. Qui-Gon, for his part, seemed intent only on the rather dangerous situation at hand. Perhaps between the physical pain he was in and the way this mission was going, the elder Jedi would simply not notice Obi-Wan's discomfiture.

_Well, one can hope,_ he thought with a touch of irony as he began to explain the latest dilemma to his Master. Qui-Gon closed his eyes thoughtfully as he spoke, listening with both his ears and the inner sense that gave a Jedi his ability to feel the current of the Force.

"Tatooine?" the girl spoke up, suddenly, stepping forward again.

Obi-Wan turned to her, arching an eyebrow again. She looked steadily back at him, offering no explanation for her interest in their destination. Her expression was clearly expectant, and her bearing indicated no deference to his status as an ambassador on this mission or his connection to the Jedi Order. The hesitation she had shown him a moment ago was gone, and he had to restrain the urge to bite his lip as he realized that it had had nothing at all to do with the fact that he was a Jedi. He felt Qui-Gon's eyes on him too, and the knot that had already begun forming in the pit of his stomach tightened.

"It's a desert planet in the Outer Rim Territories," he explained coolly. "Part of a binary star system. It's controlled by the Hutts, which should make it safe enough for us to land there and find the parts we need. The Trade Federation will have no knowledge of our whereabouts."

She nodded slowly. "I should report to the queen. Thank you."

"Thank you for your help here," he replied with a nod of his own.

She slipped out of the room, and he realized that Qui-Gon was still watching him. He took a breath and sighed inwardly. _So much for not noticing._


	3. Hiding

  
_"Always guard your assets…I said ASSETS."—Fox Kenobi_

Padme stood with the rest of the handmaidens while Captain Panaka gave his report of the escape. Sabe remained in her guise as Amidala, listening impassively from the throne. Well used to this deception by now, Padme was sure that nothing in her manner betrayed any unusual amount of attention to Panaka. She wasn't so sure, though, about what she might have revealed in regard to the young Jedi who now stood with her head of security and a small, blue R2 unit in front of the throne. She had caught herself glancing at Obi-Wan once during Panaka's re-telling already. Again, the Padawan's eyes had met hers at the same moment, but rather than reassure her now, that glance had left her even more unsettled than she had been before. His gaze was completely impassive; his expression as he looked at her entirely blank. Had she imagined seeing interest there before? Was it only his obvious worry over Qui-Gon which had made him seem so much less distant than she would have expected of a Jedi?

"We are lucky to have this one in our service, Your Highness." Panaka was saying. Padme forced herself to focus on him as he glanced down at the blue-domed astromech droid. "It is an extremely well put together little droid. Without a doubt, it saved the ship back there, not to mention our lives."

"It is to be commended. What is its number?" Sabe asked.

The little blue droid, lights blinking on and off as it processed the conversation, gave a series of small beeps and tweets. Panaka reached down and scraped a large smudge off of its metal shell, then straightened. "Artoo-Detoo, Your Highness."

Sabe leaned forward, and a slender white hand came out to touch the droid's domed casing. "Thank you, Artoo-Detoo. You have proven both loyal and brave. Padme."

The young queen stepped forward, her stomach tightening. She wished suddenly that her decoy did not know her quite so well. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have wanted to give the droid some personal show of gratitude. Now, however, the anonymity of her handmaiden disguise was a welcome refuge, and she wanted nothing that would draw attention to herself. Least of all, did she want Obi-Wan's cool eyes on her again. Still, she stepped forward smoothly and moved to the droid's side, letting one hand slip down to touch its domed head.

"Clean this droid up as best you can," Sabe said. "It deserves our gratitude."

Padme nodded faintly but remained where she was. She had already informed Sabe that she would support Obi-Wan's decision to land the ship on Tatooine, but she was curious as to how the rest of this interchange would play out. She could already tell that Panaka was not pleased with the situation, and she needed to know just how much of a breach now existed between her head of security and the Jedi who had quietly assumed the role of protector to this entourage. Now, Panaka turned toward Obi-Wan, who stepped forward.

"Your Highness, we are heading for a remote planet called Tatooine. It is a system far beyond the reach of the Trade Federation. Once there, we will be able to make needed repairs to the ship, then to travel on to Coruscant and complete our journey—"  
"I do _not_ agree with the Jedi on this, Your Highness," Panaka stepped in again.

"My Master supports this decision, Your Highness," Obi-Wan countered with calm authority. "You must trust our judgment."

Sabe inclined her head slightly, communicating her approval of the plan with the motion. Then a wave of her hand dismissed the group, and Padme took the little droid in hand. She passed Obi-Wan on the way out, but neither acknowledged the other. He hurried onward, presumably to check on Qui-Gon, while she went in search of a place to clean Artoo. As they walked, she had the odd feeling that the droid was aware of her racing pulse and the confusion she felt over the Padawan.

She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to her and busied herself with finding an oilcan and some rags. Then she took Artoo off to an out of the way corner and began to work. She had only been there for a few minutes when a strange pair of yellow eyestalks poked around the corner. She jumped, startled, and it took her a moment to realize that the eyes were attached to a large, orange-colored, amphibious snout. The being whose head it was looked at her timidly for a moment, then ambled inside with a pleasant, curious expression.

"Whosa are yousa?" he asked.

"I'm Padme," she replied easily. "I attend Her Highness Queen Amidala. This is Artoo-Detoo."

"Mesa Jar Jar Binks!" he smiled.

"You're a Gungan, aren't you?" she asked, equally curious.

"Uh-huh," he replied with another smile and a nod.

"How'd you end up here with us?" she wanted to know.

"My not know exactly. Da day start okieday wit da sunnup. Mesa munchen clams. Den, boom! Maccaneks every which way, dey flyen, dey scooten...Mesa getten bery scared. Den Jedi runnen, and mesa grab Quiggon, den maccaneks rollen over, den go down under da lake to Otoh Gunga ta da Boss Nass..." He paused uncertainly, and Padme gave him an encouraging nod. "Tis 'bout it. Before mesa know what, pow! Mesa here! Now, mesa getten bery _bery_ scared."

"I don't think I blame you," Padme replied with a smile.

Jar Jar started to say more, but instead he looked over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Padme saw Captain Panaka headed toward them. As he came to stand opposite Jar Jar on the far side of the droid, she gave the Gungan another smile.

"Jar Jar, this is Captain Panaka, head of the queen's security service," she explained.

"Hallo," said the Gungan cheerfully.

Panaka gave him a terse nod, then turned to watch Padme as she continued to clean the droid. He pressed a hand over his lips in thought, waiting for her to speak. When she did, she purposely kept her tone neutral.

"Is something on your mind, Captain?"

"I still do not agree with the queen's decision to support the Jedi's plan," he replied.

"The queen seems to have confidence in the Jedi. After all, they were responsible for rescuing her from the Trade Federation once already," she smiled.

"Still. The plan is risky, and there is no guarantee that we will not be discovered on Tatooine. With the Master injured, it will be up to the Padawan to procure what we need once we land," Panaka pointed out.

"You doubt his abilities?" she asked in surprise.

"No. He's proven himself capable already. But he is young; he lacks experience," replied Panaka.

"Perhaps someone should go with him," she shrugged lightly.

"Mesa happy to be goin along wid Obi-One!" beamed Jar Jar.

Panaka arched an eyebrow at him. Then he looked back at Padme. "My duty requires me to remain here with Her Highness."

"One of the handmaidens could accompany Jar Jar and Obi-Wan," she said calmly. "Her Highness is curious about this planet, Captain."

Panaka dropped his hand, looking back at her steadily. There was little he could say in response as long as Jar Jar was present, but it was clear that he understood her meaning. His eyes narrowed and he regarded her with silent disapproval for a long moment. "That would be an equally unwise course of action."

Padme didn't flinch. Her expression never wavered, and she smiled pleasantly back at him. "The Queen has more confidence in this Jedi than you seem to, Captain."

Afterward, she wondered at her own behavior. There was a measure of truth in what she told Panaka. She _was_ curious about the planet. Even with all her diplomatic training, there was much she didn't know about the Outer Rim territories. She had never lived on or visited a world that was governed by a criminal element like the Hutts. Ecologically too, the desert world would be a stark contrast to her home planet, which was climatically temperate, dotted with lakes and waterways, and full of lush greenery. She also felt confident in Obi-Wan's ability to protect them while on this world, but it was that confidence which disturbed her the most. Certainly, the Padawan had proven himself more than capable in a fight; he and Qui-Gon had been responsible for their escape from Naboo. Still, she had known him for such a short time, and his manner since leaving Naboo had done little to inspire trust. Panaka on the other hand, had been her loyal protector since she had taken office. What exactly was it about Obi-Wan Kenobi that made her so willing to follow him into danger?

She had to admit that she wasn't sure. She had a long time to think about it on the journey to Tatooine, but even then, her decision did not waver. When they landed on Tatooine, she slipped into an empty room, where she shed her guise as Amidala's handmaiden and donned another one, this time as a simple peasant girl. Obi-Wan, Jar Jar, and Artoo had left already by the time she was dressed, so she and Panaka left the ship and jogged after them.

"Wait!" Panaka shouted.

The group halted, and Obi-Wan turned back, raising a hand to shield his face from the desert sun as Padme and Panaka hurried toward them. They came to a halt before him, and his eyes swept over them, piercing Padme with their intensity. She was doubly disguised now, both as a handmaiden and a peasant girl, yet as he looked at her, she felt as though his gaze saw beyond her clothes, past even her skin, beneath all the deception that her office had come to require. What did he see? That question, even more than the stifling desert sun, made her breath catch in her throat.

"Her Highness commands you to take her handmaiden with you. She wishes for Padme to give her own report of what you might—"

"No more commands from Her Highness today, Captain," Obi-Wan interrupted with a quick, dismissive wave of her hand that made her brow furrow darkly. "Mos Espa is not going to be a pleasant place for--"

"The Queen wishes it," Panaka interrupted him right back, his face angry and set. What Obi-Wan couldn't know, of course, was that the security officer was angry not with him but with the command that she had given him. Even so, he would support her decision. "She is emphatic. She wishes to know more about this planet."

Seeing that Obi-Wan was about to refuse, she stepped forward herself. "I've been trained in self-defense. I speak a number of languages. I am not afraid. I can take care of myself."

The Jedi's expression softened slightly. "I've no doubt of that. This is still against my better judgment, but I don't have time to argue the point. Stay close to me."

She felt herself flush again, and she wasn't sure whether she was flattered or annoyed by his comments. Fortunately, however, he had already turned and started to walk again, completely unaware of her red cheeks, which now had no hood under which to hide. She hurried after him, having no wish to make him regret his decision to let her come along. As they made their way across the glaring desert toward Mos Espa, she stole a few furtive glances at him, but he never returned them. His own eyes were glued on the spaceport ahead, his stride determined and confident, and Padme had to restrain the urge to bite her lip in confusion. On the one hand, she was beginning to see that _this_ was what inspired her trust in him. He moved with self-assured steadiness, and there was a charismatic intensity about him which she found difficult to resist. On the other hand, though, his manner was perplexing. Would it have hurt him to _look_ at her? Then again, he _had_ looked at her before, and that had been every bit as unsettling…


	4. Surprises

  
_Never think you know enough; never believe that what you have learned can change what you are.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

It was approaching midafternoon by the time that Obi-Wan and his charges reached Mos Espa and made their way toward the spaceport's center. The city was large and sprawling, with the look of a gnarled old serpent which had hunkered down in the sand to escape the heat. The buildings were domed, thick-walled, and curved to protect against the sun. Vendor's stalls, shops, and businesses were fronted by awnings and verandas that provided a measure of shade to the owners, customers, and passers-by. Streets were broad and packed with beings of every shape and size, most from off planet. Some rode desert-seasoned eopies. Domesticated banthas, massive and horned, and lumbering dew backs hauled carts, sleds, and wagons that ran on wheels and mechanical tracks by turn, a mishmash of commerce trafficking between Tatooine's smaller ports and the planets of star systems beyond.

Obi-Wan kept a close watch for trouble. Among the crowd of beings around them, there were Rodians and Dugs and others whose purpose was always suspect. Most of those they passed paid them no notice. One or two turned to glance at Jar Jar, but dismissed the Gungan almost out of hand once they got a good look at him. As a group, they blended in nicely. There were so many combinations of creatures of every species that the appearance of one more meant almost nothing. This was largely the reason that Qui-Gon had suggested that the Gungan go with him in the first place. The presence of a non-human made Obi-Wan himself less noticeable. Additionally, traveling with Padme gave their little party the suggestion of a family in transit, which afforded them the advantage of appearing less aggressive and therefore worthy of less attention.

He had been aware of these considerations when he made the decision to allow her to accompany them. In fact, despite her assertion that she could take care of herself, if he hadn't seen some use in having her with him, he would have happily refused Panaka. Qui-Gon had already cautioned him to be mindful of his thoughts in regard to this girl, and he intended to do just that. At the moment, however, his thoughts were a confused jumble. Being this close to her made it impossible to dismiss the continuing pull of the Force between them. Yet, how could such a thing be happening? What possible purpose could there be in drawing them together? He was studying to become a Jedi Knight. Strong attachment of any kind was forbidden to him. It wasn't as if he could…could what?

The question made his mouth go dry. He had no answer. Worse than that, she was looking at him again, and it was all he could do to keep from looking back. He took refuge in conversation--or rather, in a one-sided recitation of all that he had learned from Qui-Gon about this world and its inhabitants. He and his Master had been on Tatooine before, though it had been some years ago. Panaka said that the girl's mistress was curious about the planet; she couldn't find anything unusual in his sharing information about it.

"Tatooine is home to Jabba the Hutt, who controls the bulk of the trafficking in illegal goods, piracy, and slavery that generates most of the planet's wealth. Jabba controls the spaceports and settlements, all of the populated areas. The desert belongs to the Jawas, who scavenge whatever they can find to sell or trade, and to the Tuskens, who live a nomadic life and feel free to steal from everyone," he explained, keeping his voice low and conversational.

The girl walked silently at his elbow, her sharp eyes taking in everything. Speeders nosed by them, and droids of every size toiled in the service of desert-garbed beings of every imaginable species. She looked at them so intently that he couldn't help but turn toward her, wondering exactly what she saw. He had seen much of the galaxy as a Jedi Padawan; her expression seemed so curious and full of surprised interest that he wondered if she had ever left her homeworld at all. Then she looked back at him, smiling in the same hesitant way that she had on the ship earlier.

"Go on," she invited.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um…There are a number of farms as well, outlying operations that take advantage of the climate-moisture farms for the most part, operated by off- worlders not a part of the indigenous tribes and scavengers, not connected directly to the Hutts. This is a rough and dangerous place. Most avoid it. Its few spaceports have become havens for those who do not wish to be found."

"Like us," she commented, the corners of her eyes crinkling with wry amusement.

He couldn't resist a smile. "Quite."

They traveled the main street of the spaceport to its far end and turned down a side street that led to a small plaza ringed with salvage dealers and junk shops. Obi-Wan glanced at the mounds of engine parts, control panels, and communication chips recovered from starships and speeders.

"We'll try one of these smaller dealers first," Obi-Wan said with more confidence than he actually felt.

He nodded toward one in which a vast pile of old transports and parts was heaped within an attached compound, and Padme followed him toward it. Jar Jar and Artoo trailed them, the Gungan muttering to himself about the inadvisability of this entire venture while the droid beeped cheerfully, doing its best to reassure him.

They walked through the shop's low entry and were greeted by a pudgy blue creature who flew into their faces like a crazed probe, tiny wings buzzing so fast they could barely be seen.

_"Hi chubba da nago?" _ it snapped in a frizzy, guttural voice, demanding to know their business. A Toydarian, Obi-Wan thought. He knew enough to recognize one, but not much else.

"I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian," he replied in Basic.

The Toydarian fairly beamed with delight, his reticular snout curling over his toothy mouth and making odd smacking noises. "Ah, yes! Nubian! We have lots of that." The sharp, bulbous eyes flicked from one face to the other, ending with the Gungan. "What's this?"

Jar Jar shrank behind Padme fearfully.

"Never mind that." The Jedi brushed the Toydarian's question aside. "Can you help us or not?"

"Can you pay me or not—that's the question!" The Toydarian's skinny blue arms crossed over his rounded torso, and he regarded the group with disdain. "What kinda junk you after, farmer?"

"My droid has a readout of what I need," Obi-Wan said calmly, glancing down at Artoo, who tootled back firmly, not at all impressed with the Toydarian's manner.

Still hanging midair in front of Obi-Wan's nose, the shopkeeper glanced over one shoulder. _"Peedunkel! Naba dee unko!" _

A small, disheveled boy raced in from the salvage yard, coming to an uncertain stop in front of them. His clothes were ragged and thick with grime, and he had the look of someone about to be given a beating. He flinched as the Toydarian wheeled back and lifted a hand in admonishment.

"What took you so long?" demanded the shopkeeper.

_"Mel tass cho-pas kee," _ the boy responded quickly, blue eyes taking in the newcomers with a quick glance. "I was cleaning out the bin like you—"

_"Chut-chut!" _ The Toydarian threw up his hands angrily. "Never mind the bin! Watch the store! I've got some selling to do!"

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow slightly as he watched the exchange. It was obvious to him that the boy was a slave, and while that fact did not sit well with him, it didn't surprise him. Slavery was, unfortunately, quite common on fringe worlds such as Tatooine. What intrigued him was the Force potential that he immediately sensed in the child. He was too old to be trained in the ways of the Force now, and that was unfortunate, because he might once have made an admirable Jedi.

The Toydarian flitted back around to face him, cutting off his thoughts. "So, let me take you out back. You'll soon find what you need."

He darted toward the salvage yard, beckoning Obi-Wan eagerly. The Jedi followed, with Artoo trundling after them. Padme slipped up beside him as he exited the shop, hooking her arm through his. He blinked in surprise and shot her a questioning look, but with the Toydarian so close, there was little he could say. She smiled and shrugged lightly, but he could see a smirk hiding in her eyes.

"You said to stick close to you," she reminded him innocently. "It's a dangerous place here."

"Yes, I suppose I did," he admitted, following the Toydarian further into the salvage yard.

He took a look at Artoo's readout briefly, then began to traverse the yard with Obi-Wan and Padme trailing him. After a few minutes, she withdrew her arm, and he could feel a sudden shift in her emotions; the confidence she had shown when she took hold of him inside wavered, as if she had suddenly remembered who they were and what they were doing. He slid his arms inside the farmer's poncho he wore, doing his best not to show his own increasing uncertainty and confusion with the situation.

"Ah, here it is. A T-14 hyperdrive generator!" The Toydarian said at last. His wings beat wildly as he hovered before the Jedi, and his gnarled finger jabbing at the small view screen that he was holding. "You're in luck. I'm the only one hereabouts who has one. But you might as well buy a new ship. It would be cheaper. Speaking of which, how're you going to pay for all this, farmer?"

"I have twenty thousand Republic dataries—" Obi-Wan started to say.

"Republic credits?" The Toydarian exploded in disgust. "Republic credits are no good out here! I need something better than that, something of value..."

"I don't have anything else," Obi-Wan shook his head. As he spoke, he brought one hand up, letting it pass casually in front of the Toydarian's face. "But credits will be fine."

"No, they won't!" The junk dealer snapped, buzzing angrily.

From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Padme bring her fingers delicately up to her lips as if in thought, but he had the distinct sense that she was laughing at his failure. He frowned a bit, then concentrated as he brought his hand up again, this time directing the full measure of his suggestive powers at the Toydarian.

"Credits will be fine," he repeated.

"No, they won't!" the shopkeeper repeated. "What do you think you're doing, waving your hand around like that? You think you're some kinda Jedi? Hah! I'm a Toydarian! Mind tricks don't work on me, only money! No money, no parts, no deal! And no one else has a T-14 hyperdrive generator, I can promise you that!"

Now Padme frowned as well, recognizing the sudden, serious turn of the situation. Obi-Wan gave the Toydarian a small nod of acknowledgement. Then he turned toward the girl.

"We'll have to see what we can find and come back later," he said.

She nodded, following him back inside. In the shop, the boy gave them a smile from the counter where he was sitting. He and Jar Jar were talking while the Gungan idly explored the contents of a nearby shop. Obi-Wan nodded briefly, and Padme returned the smile, walking over to stand beside the counter.

"I'm Padme," she introduced herself, casually waving toward Obi-Wan. "This is Obi-Wan."

The boy beamed at them and offered Obi-Wan a hand. "Anakin Skywalker."

He held back a sigh and took the proffered hand, giving it a reluctant shake. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Hey, what's this?" complained the gruff voice of the Toydarian as he flitted back in behind them. "Social hour? You got no money, we don't want you here, farmer!"

"We're leaving," Obi-Wan promised quietly, gesturing for Padme and Jar Jar to follow him toward the door.  



	5. Shelter

  


**Shelter**

_When the storm winds sweep the plains, there are no enemies.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

Padme followed Obi-Wan back through the lime plaza of salvage shops toward the main avenue. At a junction where two buildings divided to form a shadowed niche, the Jedi moved everyone from view and brought out his comlink from beneath his poncho. Padme watched him patiently enough, though proximity to him made her pulse race. This close, she could even smell him--an oddly appealing mix of sweat, dust, and spicy masculinity. She took a quiet deep breath, trying to focus on something else, but there was nothing to look at except Jar Jar. The Gungan prowled the small space as if trapped, his eyes fixed nervously on the busy street.

When Qui-Gon responded to the comlink's pulse, Obi-Wan quickly filled him in on the situation. Still in bed with his leg up, Qui-Gon had to call Panaka to find out what might be onboard that they could use to barter with. Obi-Wan gave an unconscious nod at his Master's statement, rubbing his eyes wearily as he waited. Another time, Padme might have chuckled, but she only ducked her head, staring at their feet rather than look at him.

For the second time that day, she was forced to wonder at her own behavior. Taking the Jedi's arm in the shop had been impulsive; more than that, it overstepped the boundaries of both of their roles here--whether she was Queen of Naboo or Amidala's handmaiden. Even if his behavior was alternately confusing and irritating, he was a Jedi Padawan charged with protecting her in his Master's stead, and at the moment, he had no reason to see her as any more than an extra burden on a mission which had already been far more than he bargained for. There was no reason that she couldn't have stayed inside while he went to bargain—or try to bargain—with the shop owner. Why had she grabbed his arm anyway? Part of her, she had to admit, had wanted to annoy him. Another part, though had simply wanted—to stay close to him.

She swallowed. There was much that she didn't know about the Jedi Order, much she didn't understand about the Force and the Jedis' unique relationship to it. One thing she did know, however, was that certain kinds of relationships were forbidden to him--to them.

"Master, you're sure there isn't anything of value left on board?" he was asking now. Her head snapped up.

"A few containers of supplies, the Queen's wardrobe, some jewelry maybe. Not enough for you to barter with. Not in the amounts you're talking about," Qui-Gon replied.

Obi-Wan gave a quiet sigh and shook his head, clearly uncertain how to proceed. Padme restrained the urge to touch his arm. Qui-Gon's voice crackled over the comlink again, reassuring him.

"Obi-Wan. Another solution will present itself. Have patience."

"Yes, Master," he said automatically. Then, he tucked the comlink beneath his poncho and signaled to the others. He started the street again when Jar Jar grabbed his arm.

"Noah gain, sire," the Gungan pleaded. "Da beings hereabouts crazy nuts. Wesa goen be robbed and crunched!"

"Not likely," Obi-Wan replied with a rueful half-smile, tugging his arm free. "We have nothing of value. That's our problem."

They started back down the street, and Padme slipped up beside him again. He looked at her but said nothing. This time though, his expression softened, and it seemed to her that the small gesture brought him some measure of consolation.

"I should apologize to you," she ventured quietly.

"What?" his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"For earlier. In the shop…?" she attempted.

"Oh," he waved a hand dismissively. "It's—fine."

"Right," she sighed, turning away. She didn't know exactly what she'd expected, but she felt disappointed in any case. Obviously he had more important matters to worry about now, but a small show of goodwill might have been reassuring.

Nevertheless, she and Artoo stayed close as they made their way through the crowds. Jar Jar, however, began to lag behind, distracted by all the strange sights and smells. They were passing an outdoor cafe, its tables occupied by a rough bunch of aliens. Padme turned to look over her shoulder as they walked, and she saw the Gungan slow, enticed by a string of what looked like small amphibians hanging from the front of a nearby stall.

"Jar Jar, keep up!" she urged, beckoning for him.

Obi-Wan glanced back too, and she saw his expression darken. Laying a hand on his arm, she said in a placating tone, "He's probably just hungry."

"Well, we haven't any money, in case you'd forgotten," he said.

"I know," she said hesitantly.

"Hey, that will be seven truguts!" another voice shouted. Padme looked back again to see Jar Jar standing there with one of the amphibians in his mouth. It was also still firmly attached to the string, and the vendor must have seen him try to snatch it. She spun quickly, heading back toward him, but he let go of his prize again.

It popped out of his mouth as if catapulted, winging away at the end of the taut wire. It ricocheted this way and that, breaking free at last to land directly in the a bowl of soup, splashing gooey liquid all over the being who had been eating the stuff.

The gangly creature leapt to his feet in fury, catching sight of the hapless Jar Jar as he tried to move away from the frog vendor. Springing across the table on all fours, he was on top of the Gungan in an instant, grabbing him by the throat.

"_Chubba! _ You!" the Dug snarled through its corded snout. Feelers and mandibles writhed. "Is this yours?"

Obi-Wan sprang toward him as well, moving to intervene, but by the time he had Padme reached the table again, the offended Dug, Anakin Skywalker was also pushing his way through the gathering crowd. The boy seemed unafraid of the Dug, undeterred by the hard-eyed crowd, his bearing self assured. He gave the creature a warning look.

"_Chess ko_, Sebulba," he said. "Careful. This one's very well connected."

Sebulba turned to face the boy, cruel face twisting with disdain as he caught sight of the newcomer. "_Tooney rana dunko, shag? _" he snapped, demanding to know what the boy meant.

"Connected—as in Hutt," Anakin shrugged. The boy's blue eyes fixed the Dug, and Padme saw a hint of fear in the creature's face. "Big-time connected, this one, Sebulba. I'd hate to see you diced before we had a chance to race again."

_"Neek me chawa! _ Next time we race, _wermo_, it will be the end of you!" Sebulba gestured violently. _"Uto notu wo shag! _ If you weren't a slave, I'd squash you here and now!" With a final glare at the cringing Jar Jar, Sebulba wheeled away, taking his companions with him.

Anakin stared after them. "Yeah, it'd be a pity if you had to pay for me," he said softly.

Padme frowned softly. "You're a slave?" she asked.

The boy whirled around to glare at her. "I _am_ a person!"

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly. "This world is strange to me. I don't fully understand—"

"What were doing?" Obi-Wan cut them off suddenly, glaring at Jar Jar. "Didn't I tell you once to keep out of trouble?"

"No, no," Jar Jar protested. "Mesa not to blame, sire—"

Anakin snorted, turning to address the Jedi. "Your buddy here was about to be turned into orange goo. He picked a fight with a Dug. An especially dangerous Dug."

"Nossir, nossir!" the chagrined Gungan insisted. "Mesa hate crunchen. Tis da last thing mesa want!"

"Whether you wanted it or not, the boy just saved you from a beating," Obi-Wan shook his head in annoyance. Glancing toward the boy, he added, "We owe you our thanks, Anakin."

"Mesa doen nutten!" Jar Jar insisted, still trying to defend himself, hands gesturing for emphasis. Obi-Wan and Anakin looked back at him, then turned to one another again, mutually rolling their eyes. Padme gave the pair an amused smile.

"You were afraid," the boy told him, looking up at the long-billed face solemnly. "Fear attracts the fearful. Sebulba was trying to overcome his fear by squashing you. You can help yourself by being less afraid."

"And that works for you?" Padme asked skeptically, giving him a wry look.

Anakin smiled and shrugged. "Well...up to a point."

After a few more moments of small-talk, he persuaded the group to follow him a short distance down the street to a fruit stand. It was a ramshackle affair formed by a makeshift ragged awning stretched over a framework of bent poles. Boxes of brightly colored fruit were arranged on a rack tilted toward the street for viewing. A weathered old lady, gray-haired and stooped, her simple clothing patched and worn, rose from a stool to greet them on their approach. They spent a few minutes with her, and Anakin bought them each a piece of fruit. Then, suddenly, the wind began to pick up, and all around them, shopkeepers began to close their windows.

"Gracious, my bones are aching. There's a storm coming, Ani. You'd better get home quick," the old woman said.

The wind gusted in a series of sharp blasts that sent sand and loose debris flying. Anakin glanced at the sky, then at Padme. "Do you have shelter?" he asked.

She nodded. "We'll head back to our ship. Thank you again for—"

"Is your ship far?" he asked urgently.

"It's on the outskirts of the city," she replied.

"You'll never reach the outskirts in time. Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. Come with me. You can wait it out at my home. It's not far. My mom won't mind. Hurry!" he didn't wait for her to respond but grabbed her hand, pulling her after him as the sky began to cloud with grit and the wind howled menacingly.

In seconds, Padme could hardly see. Grit stung even through her clothes, and she raised her free hand to shield her face. Soon she had to fight for breath as whirling sand began to choke her. Anakin led them into the city's slave quarters, which she could just make out as a a jumbled collection of hovels stacked one on top of the other so that they resembled anthills, each complex linked by common walls and switchback stairways, the plaza fronting them almost empty as the sandstorm chased everyone under cover. Anakin guided his charges through the gritty gloom to his front door and pushed his way inside.

"Mom! Mom! I'm home!" he called excitedly. Adobe walls, whitewashed and scrubbed, glimmered softly in a mix of storm-clouded sunlight admitted through small, arched windows and a diffuse electric glow from ceiling fixtures. They stood in the main room, a smallish space dominated by a table and chairs. A kitchen occupied one wall and a work space another. Openings led to smaller nooks and sleeping rooms. Outside, the wind howled past the doors and windows, shaving a fresh layer of skin from the exterior of the walls.

Anakin's mother entered from a work area off to one side, brushing her hands on her dress. She was a woman of forty, her long brown hair tied back from her worn face, her clothing rough and simple. Her smile was warm and youthful as she greeted her son, but it faded quickly as she caught sight of the people behind him.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed softly, glancing uncertainly from face to face. "Ani, what's this?"

Anakin beamed. "These are my friends, Mom."

Obi-Wan stepped forward, offering his hand. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is Padme. Your son was kind enough to offer us shelter from the storm."

"And this is Jar Jar Binks, and our droid, Artoo Detoo," Padme added, investing just a hint of sharpness into her tone at Obi-Wan's lapse. "We're very grateful to you and your son."

The woman smiled, her expression seeming to hold a secret amusement that puzzled Padme. "I'm Shmi Skywalker."


	6. Stirrings

  
_The Ka'andesi on a journey will never pass up a chance to share a meal with friends or family. Sharing a meal is the heart of what it means to be a family in the clans. It brings comfort to those far from home, and even in the HoloNet age, news travels farther over soup and bread than the outsider might imagine._

—Reflections on the Ka'andesi Home Life, by Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear. 

The storm continued throughout the remainder of the day, engulfing Mos Espa, sand blown in from the desert piling up against the shuttered buildings, forming ramps against doorways and walls, clouding the air and shutting out the light. Obi-Wan had given Anakin's mother some of the food capsules that he'd brought with them from the ship, and she used them to prepare a meal for the group. Anakin had taken Padme off to his room to show off some droid that he was building, so Obi-Wan slid into a seat at the table, watching Shmi for a while.

In the temple, meals were served communally. On missions, he and Qui-Gon typically took meals on the move, or sometimes formally as part of a diplomatic entourage. There were a handful of times that he could recall eating like this, as part of a family group, but usually in those situations, he had the odd sense of being less than a guest. He felt more as if he were some sort of outside observer, watching and taking note of everything around him, yet not particularly connected to the goings-on.

He had never actually sat and watched the meal preparations, though, and Shmi intrigued him. She moved about the kitchen with an air of casual authority, her movements entirely efficient, and yet it seemed to him that she had gone through the same motions for so long now that only half of her mind was focused on her tasks. Still, she appeared to enjoy the work; he could sense that she took pleasure in cooking, and she hummed absently to herself as she moved. It stirred something in him, though he couldn't quite explain what—some half-remembered image, a barely recalled sense of warmth.

She turned toward the table, raising her eyebrow as she realized that he was studying her. He took a startled breath, and smiled apologetically, pushing himself to his feet. Then he realized that he had no idea where he was going.

"Would you like to help?" she asked.

"Um. Me?"

She glanced around briefly. "I don't see anyone else in the room…"

"Oh. Well…er…if…" he shrugged.

"You can set the table," she told him with an amused smile.

He nodded uncertainly. Shmi showed him to the cupboards, and he busied himself with laying out plates, utensils and cups while she went back to cooking. They walked about in companionable silence until Padme emerged from Anakin's room. She smiled brightly and hurried over to lift half the stack of plates from his hands. He felt his face flush as soon as she moved toward him, but it was impossible to back away, and he hoped that at least the dim lighting of the room hid his embarrassment.

"Oh, let me help," she said.

"Shmi told me to this…?" he coughed.

Her face fell. "Oh. Sorry."

He winced inwardly, but she was already setting the plates back where she'd found them. She turned away, drifting off to help Shmi with the food instead. The older woman accepted her help gratefully, then raised her eyes to the ceiling in a gesture of exasperation that he knew had to be for him. He bit his lip, watching for a second, then shook his head and started to set the plates on the table.

They sat down to eat a short time later, with the storm still howling outside, an eerie backdrop of sound against the quiet conversation. Obi-Wan sat at one end of the table, with Padme to his right, while Shmi occupied the other end. Anakin and Jar Jar sat opposite one another on either side. Anakin began talking about life as a slave, in no way embarrassed by the subject. For the boy, slavery was only a fact of life, and he seemed quite anxious to share himself with his new friends. Shmi, in whom Obi-Wan sensed both practicality and protectiveness of her son, was making an effort to communicate the severity of their situation.

"All slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies," she explained.

"I've been working on a scanner to try to locate them, but so far no luck," Anakin said solemnly.

Shmi smiled gently at him. "Any attempt at escape..."

"...and they blow you up!" the boy finished. "Poof!"

At this, Obi-Wan sensed both incredulousness and outrage from Padme. He didn't like the reality of slavery any more than she did, but he had come to accept long ago that it was simply that--a reality. He wondered again how much the girl had seen beyond her homeworld.

"I can't believe slavery is still permitted in the galaxy!" she exclaimed. "The Republic's antislavery laws should—"

"The Republic doesn't exist out here," Shmi interrupted in a hard tone quite unlike the one that she typically used. "We must survive on our own."

Padme looked away, suddenly unsure of herself. Obi-Wan could almost feel her searching for something else to say, but there was nothing. His eyes met with Shmi's dark ones, and the two shared a brief, grim look of understanding.

"Have you ever seen a Podrace?" Anakin suddenly asked, obviously trying to ease Padme's discomfort.

She shook her head no. Shmi's expression shifted, the lines on her careworn face deepening in consternation. Padme noticed it as well and turned to look at her questioningly.

Suddenly Jar Jar launched his tongue at a morsel of food nestled deep in a serving bowl at the far end of the table, deftly plucking it out, drawing it in, swallowing it, and smacking his lips in satisfaction. Obi-Wan shot him a disapproving scowl and he wilted a bit. Shaking his head, Obi-Wan picked up the thread of the conversation.

"My Master and I have seen Podracing on Malastare," he said observed. "It was quite fast—dangerous."

Anakin grinned. "I'm the only human who can do it!"

A sharp glance from his mother wiped the smile from his face. His brow furrowed, then his eyes widened in innocent confusion. Obi-Wan hid a smile.

"Mom, what? I'm not bragging. It's true! Watto says he's never heard of a human doing it," Anakin protested.

Obi-Wan set his chin in his hand, studying the boy carefully. Anakin returned the look steadily, but neither spoke. The Jedi thought again how unfortunate it was that this child had not been identified for training in time. He sought about for something to say that would shift attention away from his study of the boy, but before he found it, Jar Jar's tongue snaked toward the serving bowl in an effort to snare another morsel. Obi-Wan's hand snapped out, and in a heartbeat he had secured the Gungan's tongue between his thumb and forefinger. Jar Jar froze, his mouth open, his tongue held fast, his eyes wide.

"Stop that," he warned, allowing a distinct an edge to his soft voice.

Jar Jar tried to say something, but it came out an unintelligible mumble. Obi-Wan released the Gungan's tongue, and it snapped back into place. Jar Jar massaged his billed mouth ruefully and glared at him in silence.

Now Anakin was studying him, and the boy's expression held the same silent speculation and interest that Obi-Wan had felt a few moments before. He looked back, a light smirk on his lips as he waited for whatever conclusion the youngster was about to make.

"You're a Jedi Knight, aren't you?"

There was another, longer moment of silence as the man and the boy stared at each other. "What makes you think that?" Obi-Wan asked finally, letting a note of challenge filter into his voice. Padme elbowed him under the table, but he ignored her.

"I saw your laser-sword. Only Jedi Knights carry that kind of weapon."

Obi-Wan continued to stare at him, then leaned back slowly in his reached beneath the farmer's poncho he wore. "Perhaps I killed a Jedi and stole it from him."

This time Padme kicked him in the leg. He purposely didn't react, waiting for the boy's assessment. Slowly, he brought the lightsaber out from under the poncho, but didn't bring it into view yet.

Anakin shook his head quickly. "I don't think so. No one can kill a Jedi."

Obi-Wan's smile faltered. "I wish that were so."

Anakin frowned. From the corner of his eye, he caught a matching frown from Padme, but rather than continue the line of discussion further, he raised his hand and set the hilt of his lightsaber on the table, quietly ending the small game of wits.

"It's called a _lightsaber_," he pronounced slowly. "And you're right. This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight."

Anakin's frown instantly became a triumphant grin. "I knew it. I was right!"

"Not exactly," Padme spoke up suddenly. Obi-Wan glared at her, but she only smiled.

"What do you mean?" Anakin asked.

"Obi-Wan's not a Jedi yet," she said with a shrug. "He's just a Padawan learner."

"My Master is waiting for us on our ship," he muttered.

"Oh," Anakin frowned, taking in that information ponderously. 

Shmi slowly rubbed her eyes, but Anakin only shrugged. "It's still your lightsaber, isn't it?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, repressing the urge to smirk in Padme's direction.

"Then you'll be a Jedi someday soon, right?" Anakin inquired.

"That's up to the Jedi Council," Obi-Wan replied. "Although my Master will have to be the first to suggest that I am ready to face the Trials of Knighthood."

"You don't know when?"

"I haven't asked," Obi-Wan shrugged.

"Why not?" Anakin wanted to know.

"Because it's not my place," Obi-Wan explained.

"Do you think you're ready?" Anakin asked brazenly.

"I suppose…" Obi-Wan said slowly.

"Then you should tell your Master that," he said.

"Oh," Obi-Wan said dryly. "Thank you for the advice."

Anakin shrugged. There was a brief lull in the conversation as he let his gaze fall to the lightsaber. "I had a dream I was a Jedi. I came back here and freed all the slaves. I dreamed it just the other night, when I was out in the desert."

Obi-Wan glanced away, hiding sudden discomfort with the act of putting away his weapon. That dream was likely more wishful thinking than any presentiment given by the Force, but he couldn't help feeling a touch of sadness for the child's sake. His life could have been so much different.

"Have you come to free us?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan quickly looked back at him, startled by the question. "No, I'm afraid not..."

"I think you have," the boy insisted defiantly. "Why else would you be here?"

Shmi opened her mouth to intervene, but Obi-Wan shook his head. "We're on our way to Coruscant, the central system in the Republic, on a very important mission. It must be kept secret."

Anakin's eyes widened. "Coruscant? Wow! How did you end up out here in the Outer Rim?"

"Our ship was damaged," Padme answered him. "We're stranded here until we can repair it."

"I can help!" the boy said eagerly. "I can fix anything!"

"Well, our first task is to acquire the parts we need," Obi-Wan said.

"Wit nutten ta trade," Jar Jar pointed out sourly.

Padme looked at Obi-Wan speculatively. "These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind."

"Gambling," Shmi said quietly as she rose and began clearing the dishes from the table. "Everything in "Mos Espa revolves around betting on those awful Podraces."

Obi-Wan got to his feet as well, moving to help her with the dishes. "Greed can be a powerful ally, if it's used properly."

Anakin leapt up from the table. "I've built a racer! It's the fastest ever! There's a big race day after tomorrow, on Boonta Eve. You could enter my Pod! It's all but finished--"

"Anakin, settle down!" his mother said sharply, cutting him short. Her eyes were bright with concern. "Watto won't let you race!"

"Watto doesn't have to know the racer is mine!" the boy replied quickly, his mind working through the problem. He turned back to Obi-Wan. "You could make him think it was yours! You could get him to let me pilot it for you!"

Obi-Wan, however, had caught the look in Shmi's eyes. He met her gaze, silently acknowledged her consternation, and waited for her response. "I don't want you to race, Ani. It's awful. I die every time Watto makes you do it. Every time," she said, looking from her son to Obi-Wan.

"But, Mom, I love it!" Anakin cried. "And they need my help. They're in trouble. The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need."

"Your mother is right. Let's drop the matter," Obi-Wan said firmly. He held the boy's gaze for a moment, then turned back to his mother. "Do you know of anyone friendly to the Republic who might be able to help us?"

Shmi stood silent and unmoving as she thought the matter through. She shook her head no.

"We have to help them, Mom," Anakin insisted. "Remember what you said? You said the biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps anyone."

Shmi sighed. "Anakin, don't--"

"But you said it, Mom!"

"I'm sure that Obi-Wan doesn't want to put your son in danger," Padme spoke up. "We will find another way..."

Obi-Wan nodded agreement.

Shmi looked from him to Padme and shook her head slowly. "No, Ani's right. There is no other way. I may not like it, but he can help you. Maybe he was meant to help you." She said it as if corning to a conclusion that had eluded her until now, as if discovering a truth that, while painful, was obvious.

Anakin's face lit up. "Is that a yes?" He clapped his hands in glee. "That is a yes!"

In his heart, though, Obi-Wan Kenobi was still uncertain. He turned to Padme, whose brow was furrowed with a concern that mirrored his own. His Master's words came back to him from earlier in the day.

_Obi-Wan, another solution will present itself…_

It seemed that Anakin Skywalker was that solution. The Force had certainly drawn them all together. Yet, why was there an uneasy flutter in the Jedi's stomach as he turned back to the boy and nodded his assent.


	7. Ripples

  
_For the Ka'andesi, stories are everything. History is passed down in stories. Ideals are expressed in them; friendships are even sealed by them. When wintering in the mountains, it's possible to be shut in by snow for weeks at a time. Nights are cold and long, and there is nothing like a hot mug of ale and a round of good stories. Especially the ones you haven't heard, or the ones you've never heard quite like that._

—Reflections on the Ka'andesi Home Life, by Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear.

Anakin was so excited about the chance to help them by entering the Podrace that he couldn't sleep. He came out of his room twice, both times contriving questions to pester Obi-Wan with until the poor Padawan gave up trying to meditate. Padme had to stifle her laughter; she knew that the boy's mother wanted him in bed, and she didn't want to encourage misbehavior, but the energetic youngster seemed possessed of a unique ability to drive the Jedi to distraction. Even when Shmi called him over and scolded him, Obi-Wan seemed unable to go back to his meditation. Instead, he watched them with a strange mix of intensity and self-consciousness, as if he didn't realize that he was doing it, or he didn't want to, and when he caught himself doing it, he would hurriedly glance away. Then, if his eyes met Padme's he would look away again and stare at the floor.

That left a tight lump in the pit of her stomach, though she tried to show no reaction. Was he upset over the way she had tried to keep him from revealing who they were at dinner? She really didn't think so; he hadn't seemed angry at the time. If not, she could only conclude that he really didn't like her at all. She swallowed and worried her bottom lip over that possibility for a few moments. Then she shook her head and breathed out an impatient sigh.

If he didn't, he didn't. It was of little consequence. He would do the job he had been assigned to do and deliver her safely to Coruscant regardless of any personal dislike. Still, she didn't particularly want to sit here watching him pretend he wasn't interested in the Skywalkers all evening.

"Anakin," she smiled, pushing herself to her feet. "How about a bedtime story?"

"I'm too old for bedtime stories!" he made a face.

Padme tilted her head and brightened her smile, extending her hand toward him invitingly. "Come on. Everybody likes a bedtime story. I know some good ones."

"With swordfights?" he asked, his tone becoming a bit more eager.

Her brow furrowed in consideration. Most of the stories she and her sister had been told as children didn't involve swordfighting. Her parents didn't believe in encouraging or glorifying violence. In fact, neither did Padme, but Obi-Wan's eyes were on her now, watching with surprised interest.

"I…think I can manage a swordfight or two," she consented, turning toward his bedroom before the Jedi's sharp eyes could pick out the flush of color which suddenly warmed her cheeks. Anakin took her hand pulling her toward the bedroom as he had earlier that afternoon.

Gratefully, she followed him and then waited while he climbed into bed. Once he had settled himself, she slipped onto the edge of the bed, thought for a moment, and then began. The story had been thinking of was one that she and Sola had both enjoyed about a princess named Leia who had been cursed by a witch and made to fall into a deep sleep until a brave young prince arrived from another system to wake her with a kiss. She had to embellish it somewhat for Anakin's taste, telling it strictly from the perspective of the rescuer and adding an arduous journey filled with space battles and monsters. Just when she was about to reach the final confrontation between the prince and the witch, She felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle and looked up to see Obi-Wan leaning in the doorway with an amused little smile tugging the corners of his lips.

His presence distracted her, breaking the story's momentum, and she suddenly became very conscious of the fact that she had never even _seen_ a space battle before the escape from Naboo—which couldn't really be classified as a battle anyway—and the only swordfighting she had ever witnessed was what he and Qui-Gon had done during their unexpected rescue. He and Anakin exchanged glances once, but his expression never changed. As long as he didn't start grinning, she was willing to assume that her depictions of the fighting were at least marginally acceptable. Anakin seemed satisfied with the ending, which made her feel somewhat more pleased with the situation, especially when he agreed to go to sleep once the story was done.

She pulled the covers higher around him and tucked him in, then quickly scurried past the Jedi, who was still leaning against the doorframe. Shmi was quietly mending under the light of a small glowlamp, and she looked up with a faint smile as Padme came in. The younger woman returned the smile automatically, then ducked into the kitchen and slipped out the open door.

Outside, the storm had stopped, and a fine dust had settled over everything. The desert was eerily still and silent. The air had cooled, heat dissipating into the moistureless sky once the planet's two suns had dipped below the blistering horizon. She welcomed the chill, which brought a measure of relief to her burning cheeks. Moving away from the house, she went to lean against the low wall which acted as a both a fence between Shmi's small yard and the one beside it and a marker for the edge of the property, cutting it off from the desert beyond. Slowly, she pressed the palms of her hands down on the gritty surface. There was still some warmth there, and she drew in a slow breath, staring out into the seemingly endless dark. She focused her mind on the heat that still lingered in the sun-baked clay, rolled her hands slowly back and forth to feel the grit of the sand against her skin, and closed her eyes, raising her chin a bit into the night air.

There was a softness to that air now, as if the harsh and unyielding heat of the day and the driving brutality of the sandstorm had left the atmosphere drained and weary. The contrast of smooth, cool air against her cheeks and rough, warm sand on her hands was soothing, and she was beginning to feel less agitated when, again, the hair on the nape of her neck rose. This time, she knew what the feeling meant, and her mouth went dry.

"Did you make that up?" he asked quietly, with the same amusement in his voice that she had seen on his face inside.

She shook her head, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "My mother told it to my sister, Sola, and I when we were little. Well, sort of."

"Sort of?" he repeated.

"She didn't tell it from the prince's point of view," she explained. "I didn't think he'd like a story about a girl falling asleep and waiting for someone to show up and kiss her."

"Probably not," he agreed as he moved casually out of the doorway to lean on the wall beside her. His hand drifted down to rest next to hers, and she focused her attention on it, studying the shape of his fingers to avoid having to look up at him. They were broad, strong, with neatly clipped nails. She might have called them elegant, but that seemed an odd thing to think about a man's hand—and there was nothing feminine or delicate in those fingers. She had to still the urge to reach out and trace them with her own, to turn over his hand and explore the callouses that she knew must be there. Her breath caught as she imagined herself doing just that, and she jerked her gaze up again, fixing her eyes on some imaginary point in the desert.

"How bad was it?" she asked self-consciously.

"It wasn't bad at all," he said. "Anakin liked it. That's the most important thing."

"Did you?" she winced as soon as the words escaped her mouth. Why would he have liked it? Why would he have thought anything at all? It was a children's story.

"I thought it was very creative," he said.

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling the flush in her cheeks creep up the back of her neck as well.

"I was wondering something, though," he ventured.

"Oh?" she turned to look at him then drawn by the note of hesitation in his voice, and she offered what she hoped was an inviting smile.

He smiled back, faintly nervous, and her heart began to hammer in her chest. She wanted to look away, certain that even in the dark, he could tell that her face had gone from pink to scarlet, but their eyes had locked on one another, and she found herself utterly frozen. He gazed down at her with warmth and interest, his momentary uncertainty seeming to have dissipated, and now his smile widened into one of reassurance.

"Why doesn't the prince have a name?"

"What…?" she blinked in confusion.

His brow furrowed, the self-conscious air returning as he replied, "Well…I…noticed that you called the princess Leia, but the prince was just a prince. Doesn't he have a name?"

"Oh!" she let out a nervous laugh. "I guess I forgot."

"You forgot?"

"When I was a little girl, Princess Leia never knew his name," she reminded him. "The story ends when he wakes her up and they fly away to his castle."

"One would think the girl might ask his name before she agrees to fly away with him," Obi-Wan said.

Padme flushed again, but then she realized he was teasing. Oddly, that small shift in his behavior made her own anxiety melt away. "Well, maybe he doesn't need a name," she suggested.

"Why wouldn't he need a name?" challenged Obi-Wan.

"Because…" she bit her lip, considering carefully. "Princess Leia represents something personal, so she needs a name. The prince represents something more general, so it's better not to name him at all.

"It's a bedtime story," Obi-Wan sighed.

"So?"

"All right," he laughed. "Who is Princess Leia then?"

"Princess Leia is everybody."

"Everybody?"

"Yes. You or me, or anybody…waiting for something to come along in our lives and wake us up."

"A lover," he said, flatly skeptical.

"It could be a lover. Or it could be something else. An experience that changes a person's perspective or…maybe a mentor who comes along and opens up a larger world," she said.

"Sounds rather simplistic," he said.

"I didn't say it was profound," she shrugged.

He laughed again. "Well, I still think the prince needs a name. If this catalyst is so important, it should have a name. Besides, you just said it's a different experience for everyone."

"All right," she agreed with a note of challenge in her voice. "So give him a name."

"Me?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's your story," he replied.

"Yes, well, you're the one who wants the prince to have a name. So you should give him one," she urged.

He sighed.

"Come on, Obi-Wan," she cajoled.

"Oh, I don't know," he waved his hand. "Ben."

"Ben?" she repeated.

"What's wrong with Ben?"

"For a prince?"

"Fine, then you pick something," he said with a huff.

Padme frowned in thought for a long moment. Then, she said with conviction, "Luke."  
"Luke?"

"Luke and Leia," she nodded. "I think it fits."

"Not for lovers," he shook his head.

"Hmm. Maybe you're right…" she bit her lip. "What about Han?"

"_Prince_ Han?"

Now it was her turn to sigh. "I like Han and Leia."

_ "But Prince Han? _ That's worse than Prince Ben."

"Well, maybe he's not a prince," she said.

"Then why can't we call him Ben?"

"Why do you like that name so much?"

"I don't. It was just the first thing I thought of," he rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

"I don't like Ben and Leia."

"Fine," he sighed. "So, if Han is not a prince, what is he?"

"Maybe he's a Jedi," she suggested. "He has to know how to use a sword."

"He can't be a Jedi," Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Jedi can't marry, Padme."

"Oh…" the warmth that had been building within her drained away, and it took all of her diplomatic training to keep the bright smile painted on her suddenly cold lips.


	8. Echoes

  
_The Ka'andesi say that memories are like dew. They disappear in the heat of the day, but when it's quiet and cool, and the world is still around you, they will form again. Listen closely, or you will miss them.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

"Besides," Obi-Wan went on, "Using a conventional weapon like a vibrosword is nothing like using a lightsaber. He'd kill himself."

"Oh," she said again.

He paused, feeling himself begin to retreat mentally, curling back inward. He hadn't quite realized how open he'd gotten in the last few moments; it was alarmingly easy to talk to her. He felt as if she knew him far better than she actually did, but the confusion he sensed in her now, coupled with a return of embarrassment reminded him how little they actually did know one another, how little each understood of the other.

"So…um. We'll call him Han," he said, then winced as he realized that they had already established the character's name.

"Okay," she nodded with only a hint of stiffness to tell him that she, too, was simply groping for a way back to the ease of spirit both had felt a moment ago.

"Well—what happens after they fly away to his castle?" he asked, forcing a hope into his tone that he really didn't feel. 

It had been a relief to stand and talk to her this way, about something innocuous and even silly. He hadn't even been sure why he'd come out after her, except that he knew he couldn't meditate, and talking to her had seemed a more palatable alternative then sitting inside and trying to think of things to say to Shmi. He still felt badly about involving her son in their troubles, but for the moment, he could see no alternative.

He'd expected that in following Padme outside, he would find himself rehashing the situation with her, attempting to find a more acceptable course of action. This nonsense about the bedtime story had been a pleasant surprise, but he didn't have much hope of resurrecting that fleeting moment of ease and laughter.

"I don't know," she said slowly. 

"Never asked your mother?"

"I'd never thought about it."

"Why not?" he inquired.

"I guess because I like happy endings," she shrugged.

"You what?" he frowned.

"If it ends there, then it ends happily. If it goes on any longer…well, who knows? So, I just liked the ending it had and never wanted to ask what happened next," she explained.

"I don't think I believe in happy endings," said Obi-Wan.

"Neither do I. Not completely, anyway. The best we can hope for is compromise that everyone can live with. But that's why I like them in stories," she said.

"I suppose you have a point," he nodded.

Neither one spoke for a while, and then she sucked in a breath. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Trusting our fate to a nine-year-old-boy we hardly know?"

He'd sensed the question coming, but he sighed anyway. "No. But right now, I don't have a better idea. We have to get the Queen to Coruscant. The Senate must be informed about what is happening on your homeworld."

"I know," she said gravely. "But I'm sure you'll get us there, Obi-Wan."

He started to flush, and took refuge in the formality of a Jedi, inclining his head. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiled softly.

The sight warmed him, but he forced his body to turn away from it, once again facing the desert beyond the wall. His eyes scanned the darkness there without really seeing it, while his mind sought for a new topic of conversation. She seemed willing to trust his judgment, which was gratifying, even if he did not entirely share her confidence in him. Perhaps the most prudent thing would be to bid her good night, but he didn't want to do that yet. Qui-Gon had warned him to be mindful of his feelings; he knew that his Master was correct. He also knew maintaining the kind of distance from Padme, both emotional and physical, that his Jedi training dictated was an unaccountable struggle. It wasn't simply a matter of resisting his own attraction; something else was pulling at him, drawing him toward her. Resisting it left him unbalanced and out of sorts—agitated. He couldn't meditate, couldn't keep himself centered. Now, for the first time since Qui-Gon had been shot, he felt calm returning to him. There was tranquility and peace in standing with her like this, and he could feel that same serenity burgeoning in her, reflecting and reflected in his own. His mind, his training, told him that was impossible—but he couldn't deny his own feelings.

His gaze moved downward, coming to rest on their hands, which still lay casually atop the wall in front of them. Her fingers were slimmer and smaller than his, delicate and finely tapered, with sculpted nails that were painted a stark, brilliant white. He wondered about that—some Naboo custom, perhaps? Their hands were only centimeters apart, and he felt a sudden strange urge to cover hers—to shelter it in his and wrap it in the protection of his fingers.

With a slow breath, he rejected the notion and moved his eyes back to the night sky. Still, there was nothing to see in it which would inspire conversation. Padme seemed in no hurry to leave, and Obi-Wan was comfortable with silence, so he merely stood there, allowing his mind to drift until she chose to speak.

"What do you think of them?" she asked at length.

"Who?"

"The Skywalkers," she said.

He didn't answer right away. The simple response was that he liked them, but he suspected that she wanted to know something else. She was a perceptive and intelligent young woman; no doubt she had picked up on his interest in Anakin.

"I think Anakin should have been a Jedi," he said with a soft sigh.

"Should have been?"

"He's too old now. Training has to begin much younger," he explained.

"Can't an exception be made?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Why not?" her tone hardened a little, and he detected a clear note of challenge.

"It's not a simple matter of rules and tradition. Anakin has already formed a deep emotional bond with his mother; it's a type of attachment that a Jedi can't have," he said.

"Why?"

"Because attachment skews perspective and makes it difficult to perceive and follow the will of the Force. People become blinded by their emotional connections to others. A Jedi's priority must be to keep himself balanced and in harmony with the flow of the Force," he said.

"I'm not sure I understand," she said.

He took in a breath, again looking down at their hands as he considered his response. "Attachments to the physical—to people or to belongings, make those things and the plane on which they exist too important to a Jedi. There are times that choices must be made which would require those attachments to be sacrificed…what?" he paused, sensing a shift in her emotions, and looked up to see her arching an eyebrow at him.

"So, you think that other people aren't capable of making painful choices because we live in families?" she asked.

"Well, no…"

"I can tell you honestly, I love my family more than anything, Obi-Wan, but if I had to choose between their welfare and something that would bring unnecessary harm to others, I would make the same choice that you would. My family would expect that of me," she said with conviction.

He inclined his head in a gesture of acceptance. "I'm certain that's true. But it isn't for everyone. Suppose that Anakin wasn't capable of making that choice."

"Suppose he was," she lifted her chin, affixing him with a determined look.

He allowed his own expression to harden. "It isn't just an esoteric debate. The kind of attachments I'm talking about can lead a Jedi onto a dangerous path. The Dark Side of the Force is immensely destructive. Once a person starts down that path it will dominate him forever."

Uncertainty flickered over her features. "The Dark Side of the Force?"

"The Force is dualistic," he told her. "It has two sides. Light and Dark. Those who use it must choose which path they will walk. Those who choose the Light Side, like the Jedi, use the Force for knowledge and defense. Never for attack. Their power flows from passive meditation, and in order to control or gain insight from the Force, we must maintain a mindset of calmness and detachment from emotion. We use our feelings intuitively, to guide us, but we don't hold them or cultivate them. Strong emotions are difficult to keep without finding oneself unable to be properly distant in certain situations. They make it hard to see and understand the leading of the Force. The Dark Side is a place dominated by powerful emotions: anger, fear, aggression. They are too strong; those who rely on them will find themselves controlled by them. They think that they control the Dark Side and that the Force is their weapon, but in reality they are being controlled and destroyed by their own emotions."

She gave a slow nod. "And you think that any attachment to people leads to the Dark Side?"

"Not always," he shook his head. "But it is a dangerous chance to take when dealing with people who may wield the kind of power a Jedi can."

"I can see that," she admitted. "Still. Don't you love Qui-Gon?"

"I…" he blinked.

"You must. I saw how you were with him on the ship, when he was hurt. You care for him very much," she said gently.

"He is…like a father to me," Obi-Wan admitted.

"And if you had to choose between Qui-Gon and your beliefs?"

"I would…" he felt his breath beginning to come faster, and glanced back at their hands, as if searching for an answer there. Consciously, he slowed his respiration, closing his eyes as he did so. Then he opened them again, still looking at the two hands which lay side by side on the low clay barrier wall. "I would choose the Jedi Way."

"Because you know it's what he would expect," she said.

He dipped his head. He wasn't entirely sure how this discussion had gone from being about Anakin Skywalker to his relationship with Qui-Gon Jinn, and the peace he had felt earlier was rapidly crumbling. His heart had begun to pound heavily in his chest, and no matter how he fought to calm himself, he couldn't seem to ease his racing pulse.

"Because you love him."

He looked back at her sharply, taken aback by the statement. There was a note of defensiveness in his tone as he said, "But also because I know it's right."

She gave him a smile so brightly reassuring that the tightness in his chest suddenly broke. As it did, her hand slipped across the sandy surface of the wall to cover his, and he felt a rush of relief so profound that every muscle in his body went weak. Her fingers tightened gently on his.

"Of course you do, Obi-Wan," she said.

He closed his eyes as he brought his other hand down to steady himself. The gesture had been innocent. It sprung simply and purely from the kindness which lay at the core of this young woman's personality. Yet, she didn't draw her hand away again, and in the touch, he sensed a dawning realization—an awakening of emotion, or at least of understanding—that echoed his own heart.

His hand still lay palm down against the clay, and he felt perspiration begin to break out, making the grit sticky and uncomfortable. Swallowing, he tried to slow the renewed pounding of his pulse, tried to think of something besides turning his wrist to lace his own fingers through hers. It would have been so easy to do—so natural. _Right_, his feelings whispered. It would have been the _right_ thing to do. She stood there waiting, full of mingled hope and anxiousness. His mind whirled. How could his training tell him one thing and his feelings another? Above all, Jedi were taught to trust their feelings…


	9. Winds

  
_The Ka'andesi teach that one who does not know where he comes from cannot know who he is.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

"Thank you," he said, his voice suddenly strained. The hand beneath hers went slack for a moment, then rigid with a palpable tension that startled her.

"Obi-Wan, are you all right?" she asked uncertainly. Her cheeks were flaming again, and she had to try very hard not to think about the heat of his hand beneath hers. When her fingers had closed around his hand, she had felt as if every nerve in her body was suddenly tingling. The muscles in her stomach clenched, and it took every ounce of discipline and training she possessed not to suck in a sharp gasp. Waves of warmth rolled upward from her midriff, spreading out through her body while icy shivers ran downward from the hand still resting on his. The result was an overwhelming combination of hot and cold that made her feel drained and weak. Even her lips were trembling. Blood pounded in her ears as she finally recognized the sensations that were flooding her body, and then her throat began to close as she realized that he knew.

He had to know. He was a Jedi. Fighting to keep her respiration steady and even, she held his gaze, forcing herself not to look down at their hands. They were still touching, she realized with a faint, half-conscious hope. He hadn't pulled away—but he hadn't responded either. He hadn't taken her hand in return.

_Jedi can't marry, Padme._ The words echoed through her mind.

He looked back at her steadily, and she waited for his eyes to become cold and distant again. They didn't. There was flash of turbulence, confusion—fear? Politeness told her to withdraw; the touch had gone on too long already. It was well past the borders of acceptable, platonic contact, and if he didn't want to reciprocate—if he didn't share her feelings…

_Couldn't. _

Battling tears, she released his fingers and slid her hand away, letting it fall to her side. Then she took a moment to be sure that none of her emotions would spill into her voice and covered the delay with a smile. Finally she stepped back.

"Well, I should say good night," she murmured with the consummate politeness of a politician.

"Good night. Sleep well," he replied with only a slight hesitation and a hint of stiffness in the bow he offered.

She turned, fleeing toward the house, and had just reached the door when he called her name. She froze at the sound of his voice, unable to turn and unable to ignore him. Slowly, she drew in a breath through her nostrils and pursed her lips, blowing it out again. Then she turned smoothly to look over her shoulder, her politician's smile once again firmly in place.

"Yes?"

"What—what is—your mother like?" he asked, strangely fearful.

"My—mother?" she stammered.

"I…have no memory of my mother," he said.

"None?" despite herself, she pivoted and walked back toward him.

He ducked his head, staring at the silhouetted shape of his boots. "Images…feelings. No real memory. I was very young when…when I went away. To the Jedi Temple."

"Do you remember what she looked like?" Padme asked softly.

"No," his tone was heavy and full of hesitation, as if even voicing these things was somehow a betrayal of his commitment to the Jedi Order. "I remember her hair. It was long, and dark like Shmi... what she smelled like. Clean. Flowers, but not a heavy perfume. Like…"

"Wildflowers?" she ventured.

He looked up, his eyes going wide. "Yes—maybe."

"Anything else?"

"Sunlight," he said slowly. "Sadness. That's it."

Padme felt tears sting her eyes. "Maybe she was sad because she had to send her little boy away."

He spun out toward the desert and his hands came down hard on the wall they had just been leaning against. "Tell me about your mother."

She stepped up beside him with a sigh, and her hand drifted of its own accord onto his back. "I'm sorry."

He inclined his head, a quick, sharp gesture. The muscles of his back were stiff and tense, and for a second she could feel them quivering under her fingers. She wanted to comfort him, to let her hand ease that tension with slow, gentle circles. Instead, she forced her arm to fall away and wet her lips in consideration of his question.

"Well…my mother is a very formidable woman," she said. "She's very kind and generous. When I was young, she used to do a lot of volunteer work, and no matter how much she had on her plate, she always had time to help or to talk if someone needed. She…well…I guess sometimes she doesn't know how to take no for an answer, especially when it comes to what she thinks is best for her children, and she worries quite a bit. Maybe too much. But she was there for Sola and I. She told wonderful stories, and she and my father both have very strong work ethics and ideals. I think her family is the most important thing in her life, and even though it's very important to her that I—continue to serve the Queen—she'd like nothing better than to see me with a family of my own one day. She can be a bit pushy about it, really, but she means well, so I try not to let it bother me. She loves to cook, and she takes her social responsibilities very seriously. Sola and I have a joke that once a guest left the house hungry, and Mom chased him down the street and dragged him back for seconds," she laughed.

He allowed a faint chuckle. "That's very funny."

"She wrote a holodrama once," Padme confided.

"Did she?"

"I don't know how she found time for it, but she said it helped her relax," she nodded.

"What happened to it?"

Padme frowned a bit. "You know…? I don't know. I'll have to ask her."

"What else?" he asked curiously.

"Hmm. Well…she likes chocolate," she told him.

"Chocolate?" he sounded surprised. "Why chocolate?"

"Because it's _chocolate!" _

"So?" he glanced at her, brow furrowing.

"Obi-Wan. You've never had chocolate, have you?"

He shook his head, "It's seen as indulgent."

"I know exactly what Mom would say to that," she laughed.

"What?"

"She would get this offended look and huff a little. Then she'd say that no one had any business spending his whole life avoiding chocolate. And then she'd stuff you with it until you were sick," she explained with another laugh.

He looked at her again and rolled his eyes. "Well, that sounds pleasant."

"You'd understand if you'd ever had chocolate," she told him with conviction.

Now he sighed, "Maybe I would."

"How can you decide it's indulgent if you've never had it?" she asked.

"I don't need to jump in a nest of Gundarks to know it's not a good idea," he said.

"That's not an accurate comparison."

"Well, I trust the opinions of my fellow Jedi," he said firmly. "I am still a Padawan learner. My Master and his contemporaries know a good deal more than I."

"How many of them have had chocolate?"

"I don't know," he sighed, a bit exasperated.

"All I'm saying is, how do you know that they're making an informed decision? How do you know that they've ever bothered to see for themselves?" she asked.

"I _trust_ them," he repeated.

"I think you should make up your own mind," she told him.

"I've made up my mind to trust them," he said with a touch of added firmness that told her she was overstepping her boundaries.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm certainly not qualified to tell you how to follow your Jedi teachings, Obi-Wan. I just happen to like chocolate."

"Perhaps I'll try some when we reach Coruscant," he acquiesced. 

"I thought you had made up your mind to trust your superiors," she raised an eyebrow.

"Well, my Master is fond of telling me not to be so rigid," he sighed with a slightly put-upon air.

"I don't think you're rigid," she shook her head.

"I can be sometimes," he admitted.

"How?"

"Well, rules are very important to me, and I tend to follow them stringently. I like order, and I have a very keen sense of propriety. Qui-Gon says I get ruffled too easily," he explained.

"That's not rigidity, it's reserve. And self-discipline," she said.

"Those can be taken to an extreme," he smiled wryly.

"Yes, but so can flexibility. It becomes laxness and self-indulgence," she replied.

"Well, Qui-Gon is definitely neither of those things," he said with a fond smile at the thought of his mentor.

"But he is quite different from you," she ventured.

"Yes," he nodded.

"I imagine that the two of you have your share of disagreements."

"From time to time. But Qui-Gon is a great man. I have learned more from him than I can tell you," he said.

"Then you're lucky to have him," she smiled at his show of devotion.

"Yes, I am," he agreed instantly.

She smiled again, smoothly murmuring, "Well, I think I will retire if you don't mind. It's quite late."

"Oh—not at all," he bobbed his head. "I apologize for keeping you."

"It was my pleasure," she replied truthfully then half turned toward the house lest they be drawn back into conversation. It was late, and she was tired, but more than that, she wanted put some distance between them. She needed to think, and she couldn't do that with him standing next to her. "Good night, Obi-Wan.

"Good night," he replied, his voice as soft and smooth as the night air which had so recently caressed her cheek. She wanted it to be his fingers that touched her there—or his breath. Shivering, she crossed her arms over her chest and fled back into the house.

Shmi was where Padme had left her, still quietly working on her mending. She looked up as the younger woman came in, smiled warmly, and went back to work. With a start and a soft sigh, Padme realized that there wasn't really anywhere that she could go to think. The house was tiny, and even if Obi-Wan was still outside, she couldn't exactly be alone. Suddenly, Shmi looked up again, her brow creasing in concern, and Padme realized that her arms were still wrapped around herself. She quickly dropped them, trying to assume a casual air as she returned the desert woman's smile.

"It gets cold here at night," Shmi remarked casually.

"Colder than I would have thought," agreed Padme, sinking down on a worn chair beside her. "May I help you?"

Shmi nudged the basket of clothing over a bit with her foot so that it was situated more evenly between them. She nodded slowly, her lips turning up in another small smile, but Padme could see that she was a bit surprised. "If you like."

Working with needle and thread was not among Padme's favorite tasks, but she had done it often enough in her youth, either at her mother's urging or during her involvement in the Refugee Relief Movement. Sewing, like the bandaging of Qui-Gon's burns, was something that she had learned to do through necessity. There simply wasn't always someone around to mend a torn hem or a sleeve.

She picked up the small square of folded fabric which passed as a pincushion, the spool of faded brown thread, and a threadbare homespun tunic that must have been Anakin's. She was a bit out of practice, but she managed to thread the needle in at least a credible amount of time and set to work on the ripped seam. Shmi was not inclined to talk, and the monotonous repetition of the sewing allowed her mind the freedom to drift.

Not surprisingly, her thoughts moved back over her last encounter with Obi-Wan. The Padawan still baffled her. One moment, he was relaxed and easygoing with her, his manner more that of a friend than a guardian assigned to her by the Senate. The next, he was stiffly formal. Then he seemed confused, even fearful. For a brief moment, he'd seemed so vulnerable and lonely that her heart went out to him. Of course, she was sure that part of the reason for that had to do with the flip-flops her stomach had been doing from the moment their hands touched until she finally retreated to the living room.

Padme had rarely been so attracted to anyone, and she had never had more than a brief, mostly innocent adolescent relationship with a boy. A man, she corrected herself, fighting another shiver. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a boy like Palo. He was also a Jedi, and he obviously had no intention of disregarding his chosen way of life.

_That's just as well, really, she thought. When would I have room for a man in my life? Besides, he doesn't even know who I am…_


	10. Rising

  
_Running away is never a good idea. Unless you find yourself severely outnumbered, out-gunned, or she tells you she's pregnant.  
—Honor Among Thieves, by Inalia and Fox Kenobi_

Obi-Wan stood where he was for a long time after Padme left. For a while, he was only conscious of his body: racing pulse, effusive perspiration that drenched his palms, poured down his spine, and made his back itch. His robes were sticking to him worse than they had during the heat of the day in Mos Espa. Attraction lingered, a warm and dangerous glow within him, but its heat had been doused by fear and confusion.

Neither of those feelings was going to help him, he realized, retreating toward the reassuring, cool emptiness of his Jedi training. It was cooling there, tranquil, and he would be able to find his center again if only he could remain there. He needed to be grounded in the things he knew to be true, not lost in the feel of her skin against the back of his hand, the heady and intoxicating scent of her closeness. He could still feel her fingers; it had taken every shred of discipline he possessed not to turn his hand.

Why did he want that touch so much? He couldn't remember when such simple, tactile contact had affected him so deeply. Then again, he couldn't exactly recall the last time he had been touched the way that she had. Jedi were not given to displays of affection, physical or otherwise. Qui-Gon was far from a typical Jedi; he doled out small gestures of approval with what, for a Jedi Master, was unusual frequency. Even then, those occasions could not be described as common or lengthy: a pat on the shoulder, a clap on the back. Obi-Wan could not remember ever having been hugged, and the kind of touch that Padme had offered him tonight was even more alien.

It had seemed so natural to her, beginning in innocence, no more than the sort of kindness that she might show Anakin or Jar Jar. Then it became more. He felt again her dawning arousal, her realization, and his own thrill—frightening relief, intense happiness, then pure panic—at the knowledge that she felt as he did. She cared for him. She wanted him. Desire flared.

_Stop. _

He scrubbed his face with his hands.

_Stop. _

He tried to turn his mind away—tried to call up the Jedi Code. Then he remembered the hurt he had sensed in her when he didn't take her hand, and it stabbed at him. He couldn't stop it, couldn't distance himself from the onslaught of guilt, shame, remorse. It came first for what he had unwittingly done to her, when she was the last person on whom he wanted to inflict pain. It worsened as he considered the betrayal he was committing, even by allowing these feelings to take root—betrayal of his commitment to the Order and worse to his own beliefs. Then it doubled as his mind returned to Padme and how kind she had been to him in return for his indifferent treatment.

He didn't know why he had asked her about her mother. He'd had no intention of doing so until he spoke the question. They had been talking about her mother and sister earlier, and he had felt a certain amount of curiosity, but there had been no pressing need to know anything about those women. Except that they were part of Padme, and the more that she had spoken of herself and her family, the more he had wanted to know. In fact, he wanted to know everything he could about her. He suddenly craved knowledge of her almost as powerfully as he did the lingering of her fingers against his skin.

Pressing his fingers to his eyes, he reminded himself that this was not helping. He needed clarity; allowing his thoughts to dwell on Padme was producing anything but. He dragged in a long breath and slowly expelled it, repeated the process. The desert air had become decidedly chilled, but he welcomed its sharp tang in his lungs. It forced his mind away from Padme, and cold air on his sweat-damp skin made him shiver, but even that was helpful.

He held himself utterly still, focused on breathing, until the stillness of his flesh became stillness of mind. Into it, he then breathed the Jedi Code, words he had been taught to repeat before he could even truly comprehend their meaning. They brought him focus and grounding now, and in them, he began to find balance.

_ "There is no emotion, there is peace.  
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.  
There is no passion, there is serenity.  
There is no chaos, there is harmony.  
There is no death, there is the Force." _

Usually, he would not have spoken the words aloud. Now he did, using sound to reinforce each tenet as his mind touched on it. When he was finished, he repeated the Code again. Then he resumed his stillness, not moving or speaking again until he had emptied himself of emotion.

Thus prepared, he walked back into the house, intending to sleep and content that in the morning, he would find his feelings for Padme Naberrie much less troublesome. He had only been distracted by her touch; now that he had his own feelings in hand—

He stopped short at the sight of her calmly sewing beside Shmi, their dark heads bent with serene beauty over their work. She looked up at him and smiled again. Why did her smile have to be so breathtaking? His knees suddenly turned to water.

"I thought you were going to bed," he said, managing to keep his voice merely polite.

"I couldn't sleep," she shrugged.

He nodded then turned his gaze toward Shmi. "I'd like to lie down, if you'll show me where. We have a lot to accomplish tomorrow."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement and set aside her mending. Pushing herself to her feet, she said, "I'm afraid you'll both have to bed down on the floor in here. I've already put Jar Jar on the floor in Ani's room. There is nowhere else, but I have some extra blankets."

He carefully made certain that he showed no reaction and followed the woman to the closet. There was no door, only a recessed opening in the wall the same shape as the rounded entrance to the hovel. Inside were mostly cleaning implements and shelves containing some mismatched tools that he assumed she used in whatever work she did for Watto. The topmost shelf held a meager bundle of gray blankets, which she gathered and handed to Obi-Wan with a casual air.

He swallowed, eyeing them nervously then looked from Shmi to Padme, who had come up behind him. Padme shot the older woman an amused glance, which Shmi returned before smoothly slipping away from them and disappearing into her bedroom. Turning to face Padme, Obi-Wan coughed.

Handing the bundle of bedding to her with what he thought was exceedingly good grace, he said, "It's a big floor. I'll…sleep over there."

He gestured vaguely toward a corner by the door, but she arched her eyebrow. "On the floor?"

"Why not?"

"It's dirt. It's cold," she replied.

"I've slept on worse than dirt floors before. It'll be fine for a night or two. I'd rather you have the blankets. As you said, it's cold," he said dismissively.

"I'd rather you didn't sleep on the floor," she said with a hint of stubbornness. 

"I don't mind."

"I mind!" she kept her voice low, but there was a clear command in his gaze.

He bristled, but he kept his voice cool and polite. "I will be fine, thank you."

"Obi-Wan, we can both be warm if we each stay on our own sides and turn our backs," she crossed her arms.

"I'm not entirely sure that's a good idea," he crossed his own arms in response. "Besides, it's not _that_ cold."

"Then you take the blankets," she challenged. 

"I don't want to!"

"Why not? If it's not _that_ cold, I should be fine," she insisted.  
He could clearly see what she was doing—attempting to make him recognize the foolishness of his own position by turning the tables on him. She no more wanted to sleep on the floor than he did. The fact was, he _felt_ foolish. He still didn't want to sleep with her though—

_Next to_! he corrected himself, covering his face with his hand. She apparently took his blush as a sign of some other kind of embarrassment, and she let a soft sigh escape her lips. The kindly reassuring girl of earlier was gone now; in her place was a cool, poised, and determined creature who eyed him with the set expression of someone well used to having her words heeded.

"I am an adult," she said slowly and formally. "However, if the Jedi Arts demand that you sleep on the cold floor and shiver all night, that is your right."

His mouth fell open, but she had already whirled and strode away from him, moving over toward the far wall to spread out the blankets. He stared at her, taken aback both by her frank confrontation of what was happening between them and by the suddenly authoritative manner in a girl who lived as a personal servant to a monarch.

"Padme, I didn't—" he began then broke off with a defeated sigh, trudging over to help her. "You are right. I apologize."

The set of her shoulders rounded a bit, and she looked up at him contritely, "I didn't mean to be harsh. I'm sorry, too."

A small smile quirked over his lips as they finished with the bedding. "Perhaps we could just start this whole thing over."

She straightened, smiling, and extended her hand to him across the blankets. "Hi. I'm Padme."

Obi-Wan laughed despite himself, and before he realized what he was doing, he reached out to clasp the hand she offered. "I'm Obi-Wan."

She inclined her head, a laugh teasing around the edges of her full mouth. "A pleasure, sir."

"The pleasure is mine," he replied, keeping his own smile firmly in place. He didn't think she'd detected the faint quaver in his voice as he became conscious of their hands again. She released him, letting her fingers fall away without a thought, then lowered herself onto the edge of the blankets and busied herself with uncoiling the peasant's braid she wore. He kicked off his boots and stretched out on his own side, trying not to appear as if he was watching her.

For lack of a hairbrush, she combed out her hair with her fingers. The process turned her luxuriant brown curls into a wild, frizzy mane. He should have found it funny, but it was oddly appealing. He couldn't resist a smile, and she looked up sharply as it twitched across his mouth.

"What?" she asked, a faint pink tinge moving into her cheeks.

"Nothing," he said, shifting onto his side. He propped his head on his right elbow, but kept his left hand—the one she'd touched, where he could again feel the warmth and softness of her skin—close to his side, trying to minimize contact between it and anything else.

The glowlamp winked out, and he listened to her move about for a few minutes, until she had settled beside him. After a few minutes of silence, she tugged on the covers, pulling them higher over her shoulder but leaving him half uncovered. He closed his eyes and uttered a gentle, soundless sigh. The only way he could take more for himself would be to move closer or rudely tug them back. He wasn't going to sleep with his back against hers, and he certainly wasn't going to yank the blanket off of her so impolitely. Her breathing had already become steady and even, and it was deepening as she fell into dreams. She must have been utterly exhausted after the flight from Naboo and then all the walking they had done today. No, he wasn't going to wake her or do anything that might even potentially disturb her slumber.

Quietly, he lifted his right hand, flexing and unflexing it as he brought it up to his face. He studied the silhouette intently, trying to determine what exactly was wrong with him. The shape of the fingers, the contours of his palm, were the same as they had ever been. So why did he keep imagining that he could feel her hand in his? He shivered even as he asked himself the question, and it wasn't with the cold. He let his hand fall again and closed his eyes, but then he could feel the unending tug of the unnamable force that seemed to be drawing him and Padme together, pulling them toward one another even in dreams…


	11. Storm

  
_Sometimes dreams are just dreams. Other times, dreams are for stupid people who can't take a hint.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

Her dream began in a sun-filled green meadow full of tall grasses and a gentle, fragrant breeze. She knew it was a dream because he was beside her, smiling in an open, carefree way that she hadn't even imagined seeing before. Her hand snuggled comfortably in his, and as they traversed the meadow, the long blades of vibrant green grass brushed against her legs, tickling and making a soft swishing sound. Warm sun and cool air caressed her bare shoulders in the slow, languid rhythm of the breeze, and she sighed in deep contentment, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said, his breath warm and humid against her neck as he brushed the skin with his lips.

"You think?" she laughed. "Obi-Wan, don't you know?"

He grew still at the question, and she lifted her head to peer up at his face. His brow furrowed, and he chewed his lower lip. Raising his free hand to her shoulder, he gently turned her toward him, pivoting so that they stood face to face. He didn't release her hand or let the other arm fall back to his side. Instead, he slid his open palm slowly, sensuously over her shoulder and the upper part of her arm as he spoke.

"I've never been in love before," he reminded her.

She nodded and closed her eyes, enjoying the unhurried sensuousness of his touch. "Neither have I. Not really. Not like this."

"I've never felt so much," he said with just a trace of huskiness in his voice.

"So much what?" she asked absently, half lost in the contrast of rough calluses and velvet-smooth skin against her arm, in sun-kisses and cooling breezes full of rich grass and wildflowers.

"Anything," he whispered. "I've never felt so much of anything at all."

Her eyes popped open in surprise, and she swallowed convulsively. Tears glistened in his blue-green eyes, and she stepped closer, shivering slightly as his fingers slid off her shoulder. She reached up tentatively, bringing her hands to the sides of his face. Although there was no visible beard growth, as her fingers met the roughened edge of his jaw, she realized that he must not have shaved the day before.

"Obi-Wan," she said softly, her fingers smoothing upward against his cheeks. As she cupped his face in his hands, he closed his eyes, turning his head just slightly into the touch. Then she felt him tense, and when he gazed at her again, she could both see and sense his sudden alarm.

"I—" he started, then broke off, his eyes rapidly flicking from her face to the ground and them moving around them as he struggled for words.

He didn't back away, though, and she didn't think he really wanted to. Touch—tenderness—were as new to him as the feelings he was experiencing. He wanted them, but the combination of sensory and emotional stimulation was becoming too much for him. He was used to acknowledging his feelings and then releasing them, not _living_ them. He didn't _want_ to let go of what he felt now, but the intensity of it all frightened him. That was confusing, both to him and to Padme, who realized all of this in a flash of insight that she didn't really understand.

"It's all right," she said in a low tone, not moving though she longed to take that final step forward and wrap him in her arms.

"I know," he nodded, drawing in a long, slow breath. He released again just a trifle shakily, offering a smile.

"I love you," she told him, her right thumb moving downward to trace the firm, moist curve of his lower lip.

His mouth slackened a bit, and his breath quickened. Briefly, he tensed again, then closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation. She kept her touch light, using only the tips of her thumbs in a slow, careful exploration of the silken contours of his mouth. She loved the fullness of his lips and the rapid, warm beat of his breath against her hands. What would it be like when those lips finally tasted hers, she wondered, and she felt her whole body flush with a hot shock of desire.

He stepped toward her, arms winding tightly around her waist, and she sucked in a breath that was full of his spicy masculinity as he pulled her against himself. Her finger froze, but she couldn't move her hands from his face. His gaze held her immobile, firey and intense as it had been in that first moment that their eyes met on Naboo. More than that, she needed the contact with his skin, the rough, prickling male flesh against her palms. Her legs went weak at the thought of it, but it didn't matter. She couldn't fall anywhere except further into him, and that was exactly where she wanted to go. Her chest was already heaving against the broad strength of his; her thighs quaked against the powerful contours of his legs; their mouths were only centimeters apart; and his breath beat against her face, hot, desperate, smelling faintly of cinnamon. It was impossible to be closer, but that was what she wanted—to fall into him, be wrapped up in him and stay there, part of him, forever.

"I love you," she whispered again, needing the release of the words.

Obi-Wan leaned his head closer, and she closed her eyes in eager anticipation, finally letting her hands slide downward, caressing his neck then running over his shoulders. Instead of kissing her, though, he pressed his cheek fervently against hers. Padme let out an unconscious sigh and felt herself shiver at the contact.

"Oh, my love," he whispered against her ear, his breath moving voluptuously over the sensitive flesh, filling her with electric heat as it passed into the ear canal. Her name was a prayer of devotion on his lips, "Padme. Padme…"

Tears filled her eyes as she turned her head, shifting back a little to splay small, soft, urgent kisses along his jaw. His skin was and faintly damp with growing arousal, and the coarseness of his skin on her lips sent another jolt through her with each movement of her mouth against him.

The muscles of his shoulders began to bunch with anxiety and his embrace stiffened, though she could both feel and sense him trying to force himself to relax. Again, he didn't move away, his longing for the contact and for what he knew was coming still fighting off his instinctive rejection of intimacy.  
Still kissing, she let her hands move gently back and forth over his shoulders, trying to ease that tension away. As she did, she could suddenly feel just how strong those shoulders were, how powerful his arms were, though he held her with consummate gentleness. Slowly, when he realized that she would push him no farther than he truly wished to go, he allowed himself to let go of his fear and dipped his head downward to bury his face in the softness of _her_ shoulder.

"Mmm," he murmured. "You smell so good. You always smell so good."

"So do you," she told him with a smile, letting her fingers move onto the back of his neck, trailing slowly over each vertebrae, into his hair and back down again.

"And your skin is soft," he went on in amazement as his mouth played over her shoulder and along the curve of her neck.

"Is it?" she felt herself blush self-consciously.

"I love it," he nodded, his face moving against her as he did so.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," Padme's laugh was a trifle nervous as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She was well used to receiving compliments in regard to both her physical beauty and her intellectual accomplishments, but no one had ever spoken to her this way. No one had said the _kinds_ of things he was saying now, and no one had ever complimented her with sincerity like this. Sincerity wasn't even the word—abandon?

He was completely open now, utterly without the compulsion to self-censor. He loved her, and he wanted her to understand not only how _much_ he loved her but _what_ he loved and _how_. In fact, he seemed not so much to want but to need those things. With one decision, one nervous and uncertain profession of love, he had taken an unexpected and irrevocable step. He'd entered a world far larger than he, with all his Jedi insight and worldly ways, had even conceived of. It was a world where people mattered not as an _extension_ of the Force, expendable because when they died they would return to the Force, but as uniquely individual _expressions_ of the Force. Suddenly, his Jedi reverence for life was not esoteric and impersonal. It was deeply and intensely personal because in loving her, he could not escape his own physicality, his own humanity. He saw for himself that loving her did not muddle his perception of the Force, only changed it, and he was beginning to understand something else—something that Padme could only half grasp as she sensed it through this odd new synergy of their thoughts and feelings, which she assumed was a product of this glorious and exhilarating dream. She wasn't sure how to articulate what she sensed from him other than that, suddenly, what he felt for was the answer instead of the question. What she did understand was that these simple things, all of which she had taken for granted as part of what it meant to be alive—wind, sun, scent, touch—were creating such an intensity of sensual experience in him now that he felt it _had_ to be expressed lest it burst back out of him in an overwhelming torrent.

He trailed his lips over her shoulder then nuzzled her neck, kissing with a slow, controlled passion that allowed them both to experience every incremental motion of his mouth, every curve and touch and taste. Unconsciously, her hands flattened on his shoulders, sliding down his back, and his moved upward, his arms cinching more tightly around her as his hands explored her back. Then he turned his head again, immersing himself in her hair.

"It's so beautiful," he murmured. "Why do you wear it up like that all the time?"

"I have to in public…"

"No, you don't. You don't need to hide anymore. I like it down like this, lose around your shoulders," he told her, pressing his lips fervently into the mass of curls.

"All right," she promised with an indulgent smile. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

"Good," he whispered, turning his attention back to her neck. He pressed his lips against the tender crease of skin where the back of her jaw met the curve of her neck, just under her earlobe. Then, slowly, he moved upward, gently brushing the lobe with his lips, then kissing his way along the back of her ear with a faint hesitation and an uncertain air which made the ache that these attentions stirred in her only that much more intense.

The touch of his lips was feather-soft, and his breath enveloped her ear in rapid, staccato bursts of warmth that were in direct contrast to the lingering, patient, curious kissing. By the time he had worked his way up to her temple, she was shivering and what breath she could gather came in short, ragged bursts. She clung to him, muscles gone weak with a mix of anticipation, love for him, and unexpected sensual pleasure.

"Is this all right?" he asked against her temple, more than a bit nervous.

"Yes," she nodded hurriedly, tightening her arms around him in reassurance. She was sure he must be able to sense that she had no objection to what he had been doing, but the strength of her body's reaction to it had surprised _her_, so it was little wonder that he felt uncertain. "Obi-Wan, you can do that any time you want."

He chuckled softly, sliding his mouth onto her forehead. He lingered there for a while, seemingly lost in his emotions. Then he took half a step backward, cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head toward hers again.

"I love you. Padme…" he whispered as their lips finally met.


	12. Tempest

  
_When the land is in your soul, it becomes like a driving force within you. Sooner or later, you will return. Until you do, you will thirst for it, and the wind will taste of it in your dreams. Even her kisses will be the land.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

In his dream, he and Padme were standing in Shmi's backyard again. He knew it was a dream because although they were leaning against the wall as they had been earlier that night, now her hand was nestled in his. He was entirely unsurprised by its presence there but lost in its softness and warmth, shaken inside by the way it fit so perfectly and comfortably in his. The twilight air was still hot, but not oppressively so, and it was tinged with a subtle but unmistakable scent of cinnamon. His thumb traced the contours of her palm, slowly exploring its curves and lines, and he gazed at her steadily, openly, hiding nothing now.

She was wearing a rich satin gown, russet colored, with flowing layers lace in shades of wheat and the same cinnamon which graced the air. It was open at the shoulders and had a low back, showing off a long, elegantly curved neck and smooth round shoulders that he had only glimpsed in her Tatooine peasant's garb. It was held in place by a single satin choker strap which lay against her throat. The sleeves were long, loose affairs that billowed gently in the small trace of breeze which stirred around them. Rings of fabric on her middle fingers attached the sleeves to her hands by thin satin strips which matched the choker around her neck. He ran his thumb over the one on the hand he was holding, enjoying the contrast of fabric and flesh.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he told her, absently nudging his thumb beneath the satin that rested against her palm.

Her laugh was gently amused but not in any way mocking. "You think? Obi-Wan, don't you know?"

He let his finger fall still as he considered the question, his brow furrowing. Then he pivoted, moving his hand onto her arm as he did so, gently guiding her toward him. Her skin was so incredibly soft, smooth like the satin of her dress but warm and pliant under his fingers. It distracted him briefly, and he had to close his eyes to make himself focus on the conversation.

"I've never been in love before," he murmured.

"Neither have I," she confessed softly. "Not really. Not like this."

That surprised him. Love seemed to be so much a part of her; he couldn't imagine why she wouldn't have had a boyfriend somewhere, even if she was still young. There must have been a hundred or more men on Naboo who would readily have courted her.

Why me? he asked himself as his hand travelled up and down the exquisite silk of her arm. The touch of it sent sharp, hot flares along his nerves and generated an answering, deeper heat that rose up from his abdomen.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. He wasn't even sure what was happening to him—all he knew was the intensity of his own feelings and that, as much as it shocked him, he couldn't give up the overwhelming, golden, electric and all-consuming love he felt for this woman. Her name alone was the answer to so much cavernous emptiness in him.

"I've never felt so much," he said with just a trace of huskiness in his voice.

"So much what?" she asked absently. Her eyes were closed, and he could both see and feel her enjoyment of his hand on her skin. There was a quiet thrill in knowing that he could affect her that way, that being close to him, touching him, filled her with the same mix of gratification and longing, love and aching, that he felt.

"Anything," he whispered, feeling an inexplicable sting of tears in his eyes. "I've never felt so much of anything at all."

Her eyes came open, and in the soft amber light that spilled over them from the open doorway, he saw them widen with surprise. She raised her hands and stepped toward him, and her dark eyes caught the light as she did so, glimmering in a way that spoke to him of home and welcome; hearth fires and rain beating on windowpanes; long, slow kisses on the floor by that crackling blaze—things he'd seen, or at least imagined, but never been a part of.

"Obi-Wan," she said in a low voice, her fingers smoothing over his jaw and up the sides of his face. He fought a shiver. The heat in his abdomen began to pulsate, radiating in both directions. It travelled upward in waves, filling his chest and making his arm muscles feel suddenly weak—and downward… He fought to keep his breath calm and even.

He closed his eyes, lost in her skin, in warm desert air that wound itself around him like a blanket, in slim, gentle fingers exploring his cheekbones. Unconsciously, he turned his head, leaning into the touch of her hand. Then he realized what he was doing.

Losing control. He was losing control. Love—need—for her, for the simple, pure, unadulterated sensation of her hands on him like this crashed through his emotional barriers and frothed out of him in an overwhelming flood. Instinct told him that he should move away, but he couldn't. It felt good when she touched him like this: tenderly, possessively, slowly, as if he were some new delicacy to be savored. He wanted to be savored by her, and he wanted to enjoy her as well. He wanted it so badly that the ache it created in him became a hot, overpowering blast, like the sandstorm winds they had experienced that afternoon.

"I—" he started, then broke off, his eyes rapidly flicking from her face to the ground and them moving around them as he struggled for words. Touch—tenderness—were as new to him as the feelings he was experiencing. He wanted them, but the combination of sensory and emotional stimulation was becoming too much for him. He was used to acknowledging his feelings and then releasing them, not living them. He didn't _want_ to let go of what he felt now, but the intensity of it all frightened him.

"It's all right," she said with a voice as soft and soothing as cool velvet.

Oddly, it calmed him, and he felt his anxiety draining away. "I—I know," he nodded.

"I love you," she told him, her right thumb moving downward to trace the curve of his lower lip. He fought a shudder and his mouth slackened, breath quickening. Briefly, he tensed again, then closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation. She kept her touch light, using only the tip of her thumb in a slow, careful exploration of his mouth.

His pulse hammered violently, blood pounding in his veins, and he stepped forward, reaching out to wind his arms around her waist. She gasped with surprise as he pulled her against himself, and her chest heaved against his. She smelled of fresh air and wildflowers, with a hint of vanilla fragrance on her skin. Mingling with the scent of cinnamon in the air, the combination was painfully sensual.

He could feel her legs trembling against him, feel her desire answering his own, compounding it. Their lips were bare centimeters apart, and he could feel her breath, moist in hot, coming in quick gasps against his face. He wanted desperately to kiss her, but he couldn't—not yet. If he did, he knew that he would lose what little self-control he had left—or quite possibly explode.

"I love you," she whispered again.

He leaned closer, shivering as her fingers trailed along his neck, lightly running over the vertebrae. He felt flushed there already. The skin was damp with sweat. Her fingers were cool by comparison, and again the combination of conflicting sensation made his pulse race.

Head swimming, he pressed his cheek to hers and closed his eyes, trying to gain some measure of composure without breaking contact. There were Jedi techniques that he could use to regulate his pulse and blood flow, but he had to be able to concentrate for those, and concentration was in short supply. He could barely think beyond the feel of her cheek against his and her feelings crowding in on him, mingling with and augmenting his own.

"Oh, my love," he whispered, his mouth brushing the cartilage of her ear as he spoke. Her name became a prayer of devotion on his lips, "Padme. Padme…"

She began to kiss his jaw, dropping tiny, frantic kisses along the line of the bone. His arms moved upward in response, tightening around her, even unconsciously squeezing a little as he became more aware of the rise and fall of her chest. Each touch of her mouth jolted him, sparking an answering hot flare in his midriff.

He tensed anxiously, shoulders stiffening, but drew in a breath and tried to make himself relax. Consciously, he unclenched his tightened stomach muscles and let the tension ease out of his upper body. Still kissing him, Padme let her hands move gently back and forth over his shoulders, trying to ease that tension away.

_There is nothing wrong with what we're doing, _ he told himself. _ I would never harm her. I could never try to hold her if she didn't want to stay with me. I wouldn't even want to—but she loves me—she does! She feels as much for me as I do for her, and I have never been so conscious of the Force as I am right now. The Force is what has been pulling us, I'm sure of it! _

Finally, with that revelation, and as he truly realized that she would push him no farther than he wished to go, he allowed himself to let go of his fear and dipped his head downward to bury his face in the softness of her shoulder.

"Mmm," he murmured. "You smell so good. You always smell so good."

"So do you," she told him, continuing the motion of her fingers move onto the back of his neck, trailing slowly over each vertebrae, into his hair and back down again.

"And your skin is soft," he went on in amazement as his mouth played over her shoulder and along the curve of her neck.

"Is it?" she asked self-consciously.

"I love it," he nodded, his face moving against her as he did so.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," she laughed nervously.

"I can't help it. I'm not trying to embarrass you," he promised. 

He meant it. He _loved_ her, and he wanted her to understand not only how _much_ he loved her but _what_ he loved and _how. _ In fact, he seemed not so much to want but to need those things. With one decision, one nervous and uncertain profession of love, he had taken an unexpected and irrevocable step. He'd entered a world far larger than he, with all his Jedi insight and worldly ways, had even conceived of. It was a world where people mattered not as an _extension_ of the Force, expendable because when they died they would return to the Force, but as uniquely individual expressions of the Force. Suddenly, his Jedi reverence for life was not esoteric and impersonal. It was deeply and intensely personal because in loving her, he could not escape his own physicality, his own humanity. He saw for himself that loving her did not muddle his perception of the Force, only changed it, and he was beginning to understand something else.

Obi-Wan was starting to understand that, even though he would not always be flesh and blood, right now, in this moment, he was a man. He knew that according to the teachings of his Jedi forbears—not to mention a rather recent directive by his own Master—his mindset should be one of focus on the present. His goal as a Jedi was to achieve oneness with the Force, but it was not something which could be achieved through a set process of behaviors or a series of progressive steps. He must be one with the Force now, as much as his awareness and understanding allowed, and he must continue to learn to increase that union, but in attempting to do so at the expense of his humanity, he denied himself the experience of an essential aspect of life.

The Force created life and was created _by_ life. It was energy, which existed beyond the physical plane, but it also existed _in_ the physical. It could transcend matter, yet it did not exist independently of matter because it was through the propagation of organic beings, physical beings, that the Force grew and was strengthened. It was not simply a passenger in the bodies of living things, it permeated them, was a part of them, and bound them all together. He realized, in a startling, split second burst of clarity, as his mouth tasted Padme Naberrie's skin, as his fingers exultantly caressed her, as every aching fiber of him experienced the soft, pliant, trembling press of her body against his, and he _loved_ her more than he had ever loved anyone or anything before, that _this_ was life! _This_ was the Force! This was what it meant to be alive, and if he, as a flesh and blood man, could not be_ alive_, how could he hope to achieve a perfect union with that which was the essence of life?

"I'd never do anything to hurt you," he heard himself saying.

"I know that," she told him as he trailed his lips over her shoulder then nuzzled her neck, kissing with a slow, controlled passion that allowed them both to experience every incremental motion of his mouth, every curve and touch and taste. Unconsciously, her hands flattened on his shoulders, sliding down his back. His hands slid up her back, luxuriating in the smooth, slightly sweat-slick skin, and he turned his head again, immersing himself in her hair.

"It's so beautiful," he murmured. "Why do you wear it up like that all the time?"

"I have to in public…"

"No, you don't. You don't need to hide anymore. I like it down like this, lose around your shoulders," he told her, pressing his lips fervently into the mass of curls.

"All right," she promised with an indulgent smile. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

"Good," he whispered, turning his attention back to her neck. He pressed his lips against the tender crease of skin where the back of her jaw met the curve of her neck, just under her earlobe. Then, slowly, he moved upward, gently brushing the lobe with his lips, then kissing his way along the back of her ear with a touch of uncertainty.

He kept the touch of his lips feather-soft, lingering over the delicate folds of cartilage with patient, tender curiosity. By the time he had worked his way up to her temple, she was shivering and what breath she could gather came in short, ragged bursts. She clung to him, her feelings a wash of anticipation, love for him, and surprise at the unexpected sensual pleasure.

"Is this all right?" he asked against her temple, more than a bit nervous.

"Yes," she nodded hurriedly, tightening her arms around him in reassurance. "Obi-Wan, you can do that any time you want."

He chuckled softly, sliding his mouth onto her forehead. He lingered there for a while, lost in his own emotions. Then he took half a step backward, cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head toward hers again.

"I love you. Padme…" he whispered as their lips finally met.


	13. The Eye

  
_Sometimes love means waiting; sometimes it means not asking for what you want. Other times it means asking, but never expecting. And love always means saying you are sorry when you discover that you have been an idiot.  
—Lessons I Learned From Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, by Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear_

"I love you. Padme…"

For a moment, she thought that she was still asleep—still dreaming. She could almost feel the lingering pressure and heat of his mouth on hers. Her heart was hammering, and his breath still beat against her face. Instinctively, she reached for him, but as her fingers brushed against his arm, she realized that something was different. The sun and wind were suddenly gone, and there was no faint cinnamon aroma on his breath. Though she could feel the heat of his body, he was not holding her, and hadn't they been standing a moment ago?

Startled, she dragged her eyes open and saw him come fully awake in the same instant. Even in the pre-dawn shadow, she could clearly see his expression shift from one of sleepy confusion to utter mortification as he understood what had happened. Her own face flushed, but she urgently tightened her fingers on his arm.

"Obi-Wan, it's all right," she whispered as images and sensations began to flood her mind. Some of them were the meadow; others were from outside in the yard, but they mingled with one another so seamlessly that she couldn't tell where her memories ended and—his?—began.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling his arm away and scrambling clumsily out of the tangle of blankets. The more intricate tangle of dream images in her mind was cut off as soon as he did so, and she felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach.

"Wait," she pleaded, following him off the ground.

He tried to back away, but she reached forward, clasping his fingers in hers, and he froze. He stiffened and his features tightened with fear and anguish. His eyes were huge and locked on her face with something so like terror that she almost released him again. That was exactly what his face begged her to do.

"Trust me," she said softly, closing the distance between them. 

"I can't—"he broke off, backing further away. Still, he didn't let her hand go. If anything, his fingers tightened on hers.

"You can't trust me?"

"I can't do what you're asking," he shook his head vehemently.

"I'm not asking anything," she told him. "I can't ask you for anything you don't want to give. I love you. That's what love is. I would never do anything to hurt you, Obi-Wan."

He closed his eyes as the words seemed to twist his features with fresh pain. Padme felt tears sting her eyes. What had she done? How could she have hurt him in promising that she would never do so? Her chest crumpled inward, and she allowed her hand to fall away from his.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, then quickly retreated, fleeing outside again.

Padme wrapped her arms around herself and watched him go. Biting her lip to stifle tears, she lowered her chin to her chest and felt her body dissolve into uncontrollable shivering. Her throat ached with unreleased sobs, and the knot in her stomach twisted itself tighter with mingled nausea and despair.

Part of her ached for him. She didn't need Jedi senses to see how horribly confused and even frightened he had become. It made her sick with guilt to think that she had been the cause of those feelings, even unwittingly. The rest of her felt empty, exposed, alone. He'd rejected her—whatever reasons he had, however confused he felt about what was happening between them, she had said she loved him and he turned away.

_How can I love him?_ she asked herself as the room began to waver and glisten through the tears that she still struggled against. _We hardly know one another. I don't know anything about him, and he still doesn't know who I am. It was just a dream! _

Just a dream. Except it wasn't. She knew it wasn't. He had had the same dream or one so close to it that it might as well have been. He'd spoken the same words in his dream that she'd heard in the meadow. He'd even mumbled them aloud.

The meadow. She shuddered more violently at the thought of it. At first, she had thought it was somewhere on Naboo. Varyinko or somewhere else in the Lake Country. It hadn't been, though. There were no waterfalls, and the grass was darker—greener, as if the soil of the place was even richer than the fertile earth on her homeworld. It grew higher, too. Where they were walking, it had reached only to the backs of her calves, but further on she had seen rolling waves of it that would easily have been waist high. If they'd lain in that grass, no one could have seen them…

_Stop it, _she commanded herself, but her mind would not obey. His hands were on her again. She felt their disconcerting combination of roughness and smooth softness, gentleness and need. His lips moved over her skin, her fingers were in his hair.

She moved over to the hard baked clay wall and leaned her back against it, forcing herself to draw in slow, calming breaths. The physical sensations, the smell of him and of the place, were unlike anything that she had ever experienced. Worse than all of that, though, was the power of the emotions that they'd both felt in the place. She'd felt as if the two of them had known each other far longer there, that she did know him, and despite the way that their conversation seemed to be between new lovers, they had belonged to one another for a very long time. He had needed her so very much, too. Now he didn't even seem to want her.

That wasn't fair. She knew it wasn't as soon as the thought had formed in her mind. If these things were new and confusing for her, they must have been utterly alien to him. Even in the dream, he had been anxious and overwhelmed. Was she expecting too much of him?

She wasn't sure. She had no basis for comparison. The only romantic relationship she'd ever had—if she could even call it that—had been an innocent infatuation with one of her classmates. It dissolved when he went on to become a painter and she chose to pursue a career in politics. At the time, that simple difference in priorities and personal motivations had seemed like a justifiable reason to move on. If it was, then didn't that make the philosophical differences between herself and Obi-Wan virtually insurmountable?

With her heart sinking at the very notion, she leaned her head back against the rough wall and closed her eyes, hot tears finally spilling down her cheeks. Would they even have a chance to find out? He was a Jedi Padawan. _A Jedi. _

She knew without even a moments' consideration that she would not—could not—suggest that he abandon his training for her. If the situation was reversed, she would not have given up her political career for him—would she? How could she ask him to give up his future?

The answer was simple. She couldn't. She pulled another breath into her lungs and then shakily expelled it as she tried to force the tears away. Though she still felt herself shaking, she made her arms fall to her sides. She couldn't fall apart like this. After a few more deep breaths, she felt more composed—not better, but at least controlled enough to move away from the wall.

She took two aimless steps and looked down at the tangled blankets, feeling the hot sting of tears return to her eyes. Where was she going, anyway? She couldn't stand against the wall all night, but she didn't think that she would be able to lie down again—not there.

She cast an uncertain glance at the door, which was now firmly closed, cutting her off from the yard and from Obi-Wan. Part of her shrank away from the thought of going out there; he would probably resent it if she did, and she wasn't entirely sure that she could see him again. Yet what choice did she have? To lie down alone or go out to him were her only options.

Sighing, she stooped and picked up both blankets. One she wrapped about her shoulders; the other she draped over her arm. Then she walked over to the door and stood staring at it for a few minutes before finally bringing her hand up to press the button that would open it.

He was standing by the wall as the door slid back and he half turned to look at her, saying nothing. She leaned on the doorframe, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself. It wasn't as cold out now; the suns would be up soon, and their approach was already warming the air. The blankets smelled like him, though, and it was comforting to be wrapped in his scent.

"Can I come out and talk to you?" she ventured. "I know that you probably want to be alone, but—well, we have to be able to interact at least until we can get back to the ship, and avoiding one another isn't going to solve anything."

"I'm not avoiding you," he replied. "I'm trying to clear my mind."

"Are you having any luck?"

"All I smell is cinnamon," he said simply.

Padme felt her cheeks flush and ducked outside, cautiously coming up behind him. When he didn't start away, she gingerly laid the blanket around his shoulders and then moved off to stand against the wall with him. He gave her a weak smile.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she nodded, swallowing nervously.

"I…don't understand what is happening to us," he admitted awkwardly.

"I'm falling in love with you," she said sadly, keeping her eyes on their hands.

He sighed, a weary, painful sound that made her wince. "We just met."

"Does it matter?" she whispered around the rising lump in her throat.

He didn't answer for so long that she began to think he wasn't going to. Then, slowly, he shook his head. Padme's hand slid across the clay to cover his, and this time he hesitantly turned his wrist, lacing his fingers with hers.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, allowing just a hint of fear to creep into her tone.

"I don't know."

"Are exceptions ever made?" she asked.

He thought for a moment then replied, "Under very rare circumstances. I doubt very seriously that one would be made in my case. Besides, it isn't just a matter of rules or what I can and can't do according to the Jedi Code."

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

In answer, he looked down at their linked hands. "Padme, this is contrary to everything I believe. I would accept censure—I would even give up my place as Qui-Gon's apprentice—"

"No, I don't want you to give up anything!" she cried, her fingers tightening instinctively on his.

He looked up at her with a half smile. "But I would. I would even leave the Jedi altogether if I had to. It's not that simple. What I feel does not change what I believe. In my dream, I felt that it was the Force drawing us together, and I started to see things, understand them in a way that I hadn't thought about before. But a person doesn't change everything he believes in an hour, all as the result of dream. At least—I can't do that. And being a Jedi is less about knowing how to use the Force than it is a way of life and a system of belief. If I am not a Jedi, then I don't know what I am. I can't define myself as Padme Naberrie's lover. It's not enough."

"Of course it isn't," she agreed instantly.

"So, I don't know. I need to _think_. I need to meditate. I can't make some hasty, ill-thought out decision. No matter what we do, it will affect both of our lives irrevocably."


	14. Desert Within

  
_Names are very important to the Ka'andesi. Names speak of where a person comes from, her family, her history. They tell of what she has accomplished or what she is like. More than anything else, a name grounds a Ka'andesi in herself.  
—Reflections on the Ka'andesi Home Life, by Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear_

"I understand," Padme offered him a tremulous smile.

"I'm not saying no," he said quickly, hating the very thought of tears in her eyes, hating that it was him who put them there. 

"I know that," she assured him.

He took in a sharp breath and felt as if he was using it to push his next sentence out of his mouth before his fear—or perhaps better judgment—could stop him. "Padme, I love you."

She leaned her forehead on his shoulder, whispering, "I know."

Tentatively, he reached out with his fingers and stroked her hair. It was even softer than it had been in his dream. He wanted to bury his face in it as he had then, and he had to close his eyes to suppress the surge of dream images that flooded his mind. Even if she didn't want him to, how could he do anything other than be with her now, no matter what effect it had on his standing in the Jedi Order? What else but the Force could have drawn them together this way? This moment—standing here with her, all their feelings acknowledged and expressed, her head on his shoulder—was the first instance of peace he had felt since he saw her on Naboo. Yet even the thought of leaving the Jedi, of abandoning everyone and everything with which he was familiar made his stomach tighten with dread. None of what was happening here made sense—but how could he deny that it was real? If he could not trust his feelings, nothing he had learned about the Force was going to help him. The Jedi Way was one of reliance on the Force, and understanding of the Force was intuitive, based far more on feelings than on critical analysis.

Perhaps he needed to speak with Qui-Gon. Then again, hadn't Qui-Gon already advised him? What would his Master say now that was any different from the things he had cautioned Obi-Wan about before he left for Mos Espa? Of course, sooner or later he would have to talk to Qui-Gon anyway. Maybe it would be better to do so now.

He sighed softly. That was one conversation that he was definitely not looking forward. Padme raised her head and frowned at him questioningly.

"What's the matter?"

"I was thinking about Qui-Gon," he explained.

She sighed. "Is he going to be very angry?"

He shook his head. "Disappointed. Hurt. I doubt he'll be angry."

"I don't want to cause so much pain in your life," she said worriedly.

"You haven't," he promised.

"But—"

"No. Padme, listen to me. You have done nothing but offer me kindness and understanding. The Force brought us together. It sent Qui-Gon and I to Naboo, and it brought you and I here now. We must trust in its leading," he said.

And there was the answer, wasn't it? Strangely, it did little to ease his confusion. He meant it, of course. He would never have told her anything, especially about the Force or the Jedi way, unless he meant it. Still, that didn't mean he understood why any of these things were happening. Why would the Force be leading him in this direction—toward a woman, in direct contradiction to everything he had been taught about romantic attachment in the life of a Jedi? He knew, intellectually, that the only response was to wait, not to question, not to fill his mind with speculation and worry, but it was very difficult to apply Jedi wisdom to a situation in which the Force was clearly leading him to _disregard_ Jedi teachings.

She looked up at him and smiled earnestly, reaching to clasp his other hand. "I trust you."

He blinked, taken aback. "I—"

Her smile widened at his hesitation. "Shouldn't I trust you?"

"Well, yes. But, I—um."

"Obi-Wan, I know very little about the Force," she said reasonably. "I know you."

"All right," he said uncertainly, having no real reason why the statement unnerved him and no wish to argue.

The blanket around his shoulders began to slip, and he released her hands to rearrange it before it fell into the sand. As he did, she stepped closer, pressing her body up against him, and opened her arms, enfolding both of them in her blanket. Startled, Obi-Wan momentarily froze. Then he realized that the press of her body held the same softness and warmth as it had in the dream. Her arms around him provided the same mix of security and excitement, and the scent of her skin and her hair surrounding him drained the resistance from him. All of it was compounded by the added warmth and closeness of having the blankets around them, and he let his head dip down onto her shoulder.

"Obi-Wan," she asked hesitantly as her hand smoothed upward over his back and came to rest against his neck. "Do you think that, since there _are_ exceptions made from time to time, maybe the prohibition against marriage was really meant to be more of a caution than an absolute?"

"I…don't know. Qui-Gon told me that they're usually made with respect to cultural concerns or in cases where the Jedi in question is a member of species with a population so low that it's necessary for him to marry," he said slowly.

"But they are made, which would imply to me that the rule should be less of a rule and more of a guideline," she said.

"I don't know that I'm the right person to make that argument," he said uncomfortably.

"Why not?"

"Because. It's not my place. I am only a Padawan. There are many Jedi much older and wiser than I who have seen wisdom in this particular tenet of the Jedi Way. Who am I to challenge them?"

"If not you, then who?"

He pulled his head off her shoulder, giving her a startled and almost irritated look. "Why anyone?"

She stared back at him in obvious disbelief. "Because things don't change unless someone is willing to take a stand!"

"I'm not a politician, Padme. I'm not going to stir up controversy for the sake of my personal desires," he shook his head.

"But there must be others who have been put in this position. There's more at stake than your desires—our—desires," she shook her head.

"Look," he sighed. "I don't even know what I think about the issue. I haven't had time to think anything through. All I know right now is that I want…is how I feel about you. That's not the proper basis upon which to start challenging the wisdom of the Jedi Code."

She nodded reluctantly, "All right. But what were going to say?"

"It's nothing," he ducked his head.

"It must be something," she said invitingly.

"That…I want to be with you," he admitted quietly. "But—I don't know what that means. For me, for either of us. I still need time."

She guided his head back down onto her shoulder. "I told you. I'm not going to force you to do anything that you don't want."

"Right now, all I want is to stay here," he murmured against her skin.

"I have no objection to that," she told him, turning to press her lips into his hair.

"Well, I'm very glad of that," he chuckled gently, a bit surprised at his own level of comfort with what they were doing.

Her embrace seemed familiar to him now, though, rather than being so alien that it unnerved him as much as anything else. He knew that familiarity was the product of the dream he'd had, but for practical purposes it didn't matter. The dream had been more vivid than any he'd ever experienced, and in it, he had felt as if they'd known each other for far longer than they actually had. More than that, he had been entirely at ease with her, and he felt oddly as if they had not only known one another but been part of one another—rather like, and yet unlike, the way he sensed the connectedness of people or things in the Force. His reactions to their intimacy in the dream had not always been those of someone who was comfortable with what he was doing—as if his conscious mind had also played a role in the dream and it would only absorb so much before asserting itself with reminders that, dream or no, the behavior in which he was engaging was not the norm for a Jedi.

How he wanted to forget that! How he wanted to let his mind simply stop reacting—to be fully here, in this moment, with her, and think of nothing but her arms, her body against his, the now familiar and comforting smells of the desert which reminded him so much of the dream. The only thing missing was the hint of cinnamon on the air.

_That's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? _ he asked himself. _Keep my focus here, in the moment. That's what Qui-Gon told me when this all started, wasn't it? _

Yet Qui-Gon had told him other things too. Some of those things he knew that he was blatantly disregarding as he stood here with Padme's arms around him. He couldn't say it didn't matter to him because it did. He couldn't say that he didn't care about whatever his Master might tell him, because he definitely did. If he had not cared about those things, he would not have been Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he could not escape them, could not escape _himself_ no matter what feelings he had for Padme.

If there was a way to reconcile those feelings with the rest of what he was, he didn't know it. He hadn't found it yet, and he wasn't even quite sure where to look. After a while, he realized that he was sending his mind into a useless spiral of thought which had no solutions and only continued to bring him back to the same point each time. This, he knew, was not the Jedi way. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let his concerns—all of them—seep out of him and into the Force.

Finally, he found himself empty—empty of worry and speculation, empty of questions with no apparent answers. His mind became still, his heart tranquil, but what he found within himself was not serene sea of the Force that he had come to expect. What he found was a desert, as empty as any place he had ever been, but full of a low, soulful wind. It would have been lonely except that she was there with him, carrying cinnamon with her on the wind, a promise of home and peace.

She held him, both in her arms and in his mind, asking nothing, expecting nothing, and he rested there for a long time. The sun began to rise, bringing with it waves of heat that foreshadowed the brutality of a desert in daylight, and finally they moved apart, each letting the blankets slid off their shoulders. He took the one she carried and draped it over his arm along with his own, and they walked inside, still not speaking.

Shmi was awake already, quietly moving about the kitchen as she prepared breakfast. She turned toward the door as they came in, and she smiled knowingly but said nothing. Obi-Wan smiled back, the first real smile, completely free of tension or some underlying sense of foreboding that he had felt in days. Then he and Padme wordlessly went to the cupboards and started to set out the breakfast dishes.

In another few minutes, the silence was broken as Anakin and Jar Jar clattered out of the bedroom. Anakin was already chattering excitedly about the podrace, and it took Obi-Wan and Shmi several minutes to remind him that they hadn't yet convinced Watto to let him race. He deflated a bit after that and flopped into his chair for breakfast.

"Padme," he asked with a sudden frown. "I was wondering something."

"Yes, Ani?" she turned to smile at him.

"In the story last night, why didn't the prince have a name?"  



	15. Plans Within Plans

_Only gamble when you know the score. Or when you have a bigger gun.  
—Honor Among Thieves, by Inalia and Fox Kenobi_

Obi-Wan let Anakin go on ahead to the shop as they drew near, in order to give the boy a chance to approach Watto on the subject of the Podraces first. Then with Padme at his side and Jar Jar and Artoo trailing behind them, he moved toward the various vendors' stalls across the way. They perused fruit and clothing, odd fluted instruments, and even in one case some unusual strings of beaded jewelry. Most of it was junk, made of poorly cut glass or silica beads in simple patterns with either very gaudy or extremely dull colors. A few were different, with extremely fine, smooth beads of a substance that Padme had never encountered before. The patterns were quite intricate, usually laid out on a base that was made up of rows which had one or two primary colors and then smaller strands of complimentary colors running through them in soft, scintillating lines or interlocking geometrical shapes. One in particular caught her eye, a bracelet done in shades of deep red that darkened into brown, with a pattern of gold and tan interlocking circles running through it.

Obi-Wan noticed it at the same time that she did, and he followed intently with his eyes as she laid the piece against her wrist. She turned it over to test the clasp, which was actually a set of three interlocking beads which twisted into one another, then showed it to him. A half-smile touched his lips, and he nodded in approval.

"It's quite lovely on you," he said.

She could almost pretend that this was an innocent outing, that they were who they pretended to be: just a farm couple who had come into the city for parts, people on their way to settle someplace and build a life. It was a delightful illusion, and he played his part perfectly, at least until Jar Jar peered over his shoulder to have a look.

"Oooh!" he exclaimed. "Tis a grand bauble. Even de Qu—"

"I'm sorry we don't have the money for it," Obi-Wan cut off the statement, and Jar Jar withdrew, looking chagrinned.

Padme sighed softly, and slipped it off her wrist, then took a moment to rearrange it on the display. She smiled her thanks at the vendor, and for his benefit, she took a last wistful look, then took Obi-Wan earnestly by the hand. Only she noticed the slight widening of his eyes.

"Maybe someday, honey?" she pleaded, tilting her head imploringly.

Pain flashed through his eyes, and she had to fight down the lump that rose in her own throat, but her smile never wavered. He forced an answering one to his lips. Nodding, he tightened his fingers around hers.

"Someday. If we come back this way and it's still here."

Then he led them off toward Watto's, but he didn't release her hand until they had ducked into the cool of the shop. She savored every moment, thinking of nothing but the way his thumb moved in gentle rhythm over her palm. Then his hand slipped away, leaving an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Inside the salvage shop, they found Watto and Anakin arguing hotly, the Toydarian hovering centimeters from the boy's face. His blue wings were a blur of motion, and his snout curled inward as he gestured sharply and purposely with both hands.

"_Patta go bolla! _" he shouted in Huttese, his chubby body jerking about with the force of his words.

The boy blinked, but held his ground. _"No batta!" _  
_"Peedunkel!" _ Watto flitted backward and forward, up and down, everything moving at once.

_"Banyo, banyo!" _ Anakin shouted.

Obi-Wan edged away from Padme moved out of the shadowed entry and into the light where they could see him clearly. Watto turned away from Anakin at once, his toothy mouth working silently as he flew into the Jedi's face with a frenzy of ill-concealed excitement.

"The boy tells me you want to sponsor him in the race tomorrow! You can't afford parts! How can you afford to enter him in the race? Not on Republic credits, I think!" The words exploded out of him, and he broke into raucous laughter, but Padme did not miss the hint of curiosity that gleamed in his slitted eyes.

"My ship will be the entry fee," Obi-Wan replied dispassionately.

He reached beneath his poncho and brought out a tiny holoprojector. Clicking on the power source, he projected a hologram of the Queen's transport into the air in front of Watto. The Toydarian flitted closer, studying the projection carefully.

"Not bad. Not bad." The wrinkled blue proboscis bobbed. "A Nubian."

"It's in good order, except for the parts we need." Obi-Wan gave him another moment, then flicked off the holoprojector and tucked it back beneath his poncho.

"But what would the boy ride?" Watto demanded, suddenly irritated. "He smashed up my Pod in the last race. It will take too long to fix it for the Boonta."

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, who was clearly embarrassed. Padme raised her eyebrow at him as well. The boy's cheeks flushed.

"Aw, it wasn't my fault, really. Sebulba flashed me with his port vents. I actually saved the Podracer...mostly," he offered.

Watto laughed harshly. "That he did! The boy is good, no doubts there!" He shook his head. "But still..."

"I have acquired a Pod in a game of chance," Obi-Wan interrupted smoothly, drawing the other's attention back to him. "The fastest ever built."  
He did not look at Anakin, but Padme saw the boy's eyebrows shoot up. Then he broke into a grin. Carefully, she stifled her own smile.

"I hope you didn't kill anyone I know for it!" Watto snapped. He burst into a new round of laughter before bringing himself under control again. "So, you supply the Podracer and the entry fee; I supply the boy. We split the winnings fifty-fifty; I think."

"Fifty-fifty?" Obi-Wan brushed the idea aside. "If it's going to be fifty-fifty, I suggest you front the cost of the entry. If we win, you keep all the winnings, minus the cost of the parts I need. If we lose, you keep my ship."

Watto was clearly caught by surprise. He thought the matter through, hand rubbing at his snout, wings beating the air with a buzzing sound. The offer was too good, and Padme could tell that he was suspicious. She wasn't entirely sure about this part of the plan either, but as Obi-Wan had already pointed out to her, they required the ship, not the race winnings. Anakin glanced nervously from her to the Jedi.

"Either way, you win," Obi-Wan pointed out softly.

Watto didn't reply, but instead his wings slowed their rapid beating and he drooped a bit. Then he steadied himself and flew even closer into Obi-Wan's face, until his snout was almost touching the young Jedi's nose.

"I know who you are now," he said with sudden conviction.

Padme felt herself go pale, and behind her, Jar Jar uttered a low "Uh-oh…"

"Shh," she told him in a barely audible hiss.

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, but his face betrayed no fear or guilt. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're another one of those Ka'andesi lowlifes, I can tell. Who you running from?"

Anakin's brow wrinkled, then a look of understanding dawned in his eyes. He screwed his face up into an expression of both puzzlement and consideration, puckering his lips. Then he shook his head in dismissal.

"Running?" Obi-Wan feigned utter innocence.

"Come on, you can tell me. I unload lotsa stuff for the brothers. What happened? Drop your cargo? Weapons deal go bad?"

Obi-Wan and Padme both laughed. His amusement was probably calculated but hers was completely genuine. The idea of Obi-Wan being connected to some kind of clandestine crime ring was simply ludicrous.

"You think I'm an _arms_ dealer?" he asked with such complete naivety that there was no way he could have been as shocked by the notion as he appeared.

Watto squinted one eye and tilted his head, peering at the Jedi in consideration. Then he wheeled back and finally shook his head. "Nah. Nah, forget it. No Ka'andesi boy makes a deal as dumb as you, farmer."

"So, we have a deal, then," Obi-Wan pressed, obviously trying to take advantage of the Toydarian's smug good humor.

"Yeah, you bet we do," Watto laughed again as he pounded his fist into his open palm. "It's a deal!"

Padme let out a faint breath of relief. Obi-Wan showed no reaction at all, his features a mask of utter impassivity. Then Watto turned to Anakin with a chuckle.

"Your friend makes a foolish bargain, boy! Better teach him what you know about how to deal for goods!"

Again, Obi-Wan showed no reaction. He instructed Anakin to join them as soon as Watto could free him and then turned toward Padme, gesturing for Artoo and Jar Jar to follow them out. Padme could see that he was troubled, but she said nothing, not wanting to question him openly in front of the others. She couldn't quite be sure whether it was the race that disturbed him or their own situation.

What she wanted to do was to take his hand again. She longed to squeeze his fingers and reassure him, tell him that she trusted in whatever decision he made, that she knew he was doing his best, that she loved him. She could do none of those things, of course, so she simply trooped through the dust beside him, heading back toward Shmi's.

"What was dat about?" Jar Jar enquired when they were out of earshot of Watto's shop. "Whosa dese Ka'adesi boyos?"

"I have no idea," Obi-Wan replied. "But it's fortunate that he mistook me for one of them. We may not have convinced him to give us what we needed otherwise."

"Hopefully, no one else decides you look like one of them," said Padme. "They don't sound like they keep very pleasant company."

"Mesa no wanten ta meet dese guys neither," Jar Jar agreed.

"I doubt we will," Obi-Wan assured him absently.

"Oh?" Padme looked at him with a frown.

He shrugged, "I have feeling."

He said no more, his expression going oddly distant. Padme knew that it would have seemed strange for her to push for a further explanation, so she let the matter drop. She would find a moment for them to be alone later and ask him what was bothering him.

They were still outside the house, having only reached it a few moments before, when Anakin came rushing up to them. Watto had apparently dismissed him early with instructions to make sure that the Pod that Obi-Wan planned to enter was ready and that it wasn't a piece of junk that would embarrass the Toydarian.

Thus charged, he led them excitedly into the slave quarters' bone-yards, where his project was hidden, and after giving them a little rundown on the Pod's design and functioning, he set them all to work helping him activate the antigrav lifts in order to guide it into the courtyard behind the house. Once there, Anakin fell to work with gusto, while Obi-Wan leaned against the racer, talking casually to the boy about engine types and scoop-air stabilizers and handing off tools and parts to him when he asked for them.

After a few minutes of this, however, he straightened, murmured to Anakin—who was hanging over the side of the pod to reach into the cockpit at the time and not paying any attention—that he would be back in a few minutes. He walked off toward the house, and Padme caught his arm as he moved past her.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"I'm going to talk to Qui-Gon," he said.

She swallowed, her fingers tightening on his arm, but he smiled warmly. Anakin and Jar Jar were both occupied with the pod, and neither noticed as the Jedi's finger came up to brush her cheek.


	16. Doubts

_The Ka'andesi say that doubt is a cold fog. Sometimes the only way through it is to take the hand that is offered.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

It didn't take him all that long to fill Qui-Gon in on all that had happened in regard to the parts they needed and Anakin's entrance into the Podrace. Obi-Wan was surprised to find that his Master did not question any of the decisions he'd made, and in fact seemed to approve of the plan. If he detected anything untoward in Obi-Wan's voice or his emotional state, Qui-Gon said nothing, probably either waiting for Obi-Wan to broach the subject with him or deciding to wait until they could talk face to face. It was just as well. Obi-Wan did not want to risk a long discussion on the comlink, and he was sure that Qui-Gon was aware of the danger that such a dialogue would pose if Obi-Wan was seen.

So, he slipped the comlink back under his poncho with a sigh and returned his mind to what he had been thinking about on the walk back. Though he had said nothing to Padme, Watto's odd comments had unsettled him. He was too well-disciplined to have shown it in the Toydarian's presence, but something about the things the shop-owner had said made Obi-Wan's stomach tighten. He'd never heard the word Ka'andesi before, and he and Qui-Gon had seen much of the galaxy. Who—or what?—were they?

They certainly couldn't be any kind of large-scale criminal organization like the Hutts. If that was it, they would have been nowhere near Tatooine; challenging the Hutts on their own turf was well-known to be deadly. Yet, Obi-Wan felt a strange power in the word, a sense that Watto was not talking about some small, rag-tag collection of gun-runners and mercenaries, even if he had used the word "lowlife." That was quite disconcerting. Given the typical sort of customer that Watto served, for him to refer to someone as a lowlife, that person would have to be the worst kind of undesirable. Yet that was far from the feeling that stirred in Obi-Wan's chest at the word. The problem was, he couldn't _identify_ that strange feeling at all. He was fairly certain that the Force was involved in all of this, trying to tell him something—but what? If he could not even voice the feeling, how could he hope to understand what it was trying to tell him?

Motion behind him drew his mind away from his musings, and he turned to see Shmi ducking through the door behind him. She smiled and moved up beside him, her gaze traveling out to the courtyard where her son was still hard at work on his Podracer. Obi-Wan felt a twinge of guilt but rejected the emotion, knowing that there was nothing else he could have done. He didn't know enough about the social climate and circles of Mos Espa; he could only trust in what Shmi told him, and she had said that the race was their only option.

His gaze travelled to her hair, which was drawn back from her face and knotted behind her head. Bits of gray mixed in with its dark brown shade, but he suspected that Shmi was younger than his own mother would have been. Was it the harsh life of Tatooine that had brought the gray into her hair prematurely, or did it mean that his mother's hair would be gray now as well?

"Is something on your mind?" she asked, noticing that he was studying her.

Abruptly, Obi-Wan realized what he was doing and where his mind was. Pushing away the thought, he cleared his throat and cast about for something to say. What came out of his mouth a moment later surprised both of them.

"Does the word Ka'andesi mean anything to you?"

She shook her head, her forehead creasing deeply at the question. "I'm afraid not. Why?"

"Watto seemed to think that I looked like someone who used that name. Or part of some group that did," he explained.

"Drifters come through here all the time looking for parts," she said with a touch of irony.

He nodded, giving a slight smile in return. "He…said something about 'unloading' goods for them."

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, pursing her lips. "Mos Espa is a good place to come if you need to get rid of something quickly. With the Hutts in control and the number of beings that come in and out of the spaceport every day, things can be moved rather fast. But Watto is mostly a legitimate business person. He likes to gamble, and he has a reputation for gouging the unwary, but there are better places one can go to for that. I know he dabbles some, but I don't think he'd make a regular trade of stolen goods or parts. He just likes to feel important."

Obi-Wan nodded, both disappointed and relieved. Crossing his arms, he gazed out across the courtyard. Anakin was still attacking the racer with single-minded determination.

"You should be very proud of your son," he said. "The boy gives with no thought of reward."

Shmi nodded, and another smile flitted over her worn face. "He knows nothing of greed. Only of dreams. He has..."

"Special powers," Obi-Wan supplied when she trailed off.

The woman glanced at him warily. "Yes."

"He can see things before they happen," the Padawan continued. "That's why he appears to have such quick reflexes. It is a Jedi trait."

She didn't move her eyes back to her son. They were fixed on Obi-Wan, and he did not miss the glimmer of hope that shone there. Again, he felt a twinge of guilt.

"He deserves better than a slave's life," she said quietly.

Obi-Wan kept his gaze directed out at the courtyard. "The Force is unusually strong with him; I could tell that much last night. Who was his father?"

There was a long pause—long enough for the young Jedi to realize that he had asked a question she was not prepared to answer. He waited, gently letting his arms fall to his sides, assuming a casual and easy posture that he hoped would make it clear that she could reply or not, as she chose.

"There is no father," she said finally, giving a slow shake of her head. "I carried him, I gave birth to him. I raised him. I can't tell you any more than that."

Obi-Wan blinked, but he showed no other sign of surprise. Shmi gave him a few moments to absorb that information, then she laid her hand on his arm. He turned toward her, and suddenly it was not her dark eyes he was staring into. They were full of a mother's earnest, faintly desperate hope, and they reflected a trust that he wasn't at all sure he deserved. They could have been Shmi Skywalkers' eyes—they should have been—but Obi-Wan Kenobi felt as if he was no longer even on Tatooine.

_Can you help him?_

He blinked, and it took him a moment to realize that the words he was hearing in his mind were also being spoken aloud. He drew his mind back into the present, found himself looking at Shmi Skywalker again. He swallowed and drew in a breath.

"I don't know," he said quietly, managing to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Jedi are identified within the first six months of birth and given over to the Order for their training. As far as I know, there are no exceptions. There are reasons for that, unfortunately. It's very difficult to teach a boy his age the kind of emotional control needed to be a Jedi. His view of emotion and his experience of it have already been formed and they can't be undone. There is great fear him, anger…"

He trailed off, unsure of how much to say or how to continue. Shmi looked back at him with a solem expression and only nodded. She was a realist.

"Can you blame him?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. He has obviously had a difficult life. Watto is not the kindest of masters, and you live in a harsh environment without enough food or other necessities. But that is precisely the kind of thing that may be a problem for him later. It cannot be easy to set those things aside."

She let out a quiet sigh and turned away, seeming to crumple inside. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, laying a hand on her shoulder. He knew that he was already developing an attachment to Anakin as surely as he had formed one with Padme. He wanted to help the boy; he had wanted to do something yesterday, and he had said as much to Padme. Still, he didn't see what could be done. He also knew that he could not turn his back on the boy or on the woman before him now. That same feeling he had experienced last night, the odd almost-familiarity that had stirred in him while watching her prepare dinner had returned, and it had solidified. As she turned back to him, the trust in her eyes compelled him.

"I didn't come here to free slaves. Had he been born in the Republic, we would have identified him early, and he might have become a Jedi. He has the way. I don't know what I can do for him, and I cannot put my mission in jeopardy, but I give you my word. I will do what I can."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," she said, her smile widening, and again he wondered whether he truly deserved the trust he saw in her eyes.

He nodded once and hurried down to the courtyard, sprinting over to where Padme, Jar Jar, and Artoo were still helping Anakin with the racer. A cluster of other children had gathered around as well, and when Anakin saw Obi-Wan he beamed excitedly and began introducing the Padawan to his cohorts. None of them seemed particularly convinced that the pod would be ready to race the next day, but Anakin didn't let their teasing dissuade them.

Finally, under the urging of the oldest boy, Seek, three of the four ran off to play boy. Kitster, whom Anakin had introduced as his best friend, wasn't so quick to doubt Anakin. Obi-Wan had to smile at his loyalty.

"What do they know?" he said quietly.

Anakin gave him a grin of appreciation. Then he noticed Jar Jar fiddling with the left engine's energy binder plate, the power source that locked the engines together and kept them in sync, and the grin disappeared.

"Jar Jar!" he and Obi-Wan shouted together."Stay away from those energy binders!"

The Gungan, bent close to the protruding plate, looked up guiltily. "Who, me?"

Anakin put his hands on his hips. "If your hand gets caught in the beam, it will go numb for hours." Jar Jar screwed up his face, then put his hands behind his back and stuck his billed face back down by the plate. Almost instantly an electric current arced from the plate to his mouth, causing him to yelp and jump back in shocked surprise. Both hands clamped over his mouth as he stood staring at the boy in disbelief.

"Iss numm! Iss numm!" Jar Jar mumbled, his long tongue hanging loosely. "My tongue is fat. Dats my bigo oucho."

Anakin and Obi-Wan shared an exasperated look. Then the boy shook his head and went back to work on the wiring. Obi-Wan considered offering to help, but he sensed strongly that Anakin wished to complete this task on his own. He contented himself with watching, at least for the moment.

Kitster moved close to him, also watching silently, his dark face intense. "You don't even know if this thing will run, Ani," he observed with a frown.

Anakin didn't look up. "It will."

"Perhaps it's time we find out," suggested Obi-Wan, reaching inside his poncho again.

Anakin looked up now, turning to him questioningly. "Huh?"

He handed the boy a small, bulky cylinder. "Use this power pack. I picked it up earlier in the day. Watto has less need for it than you."

Padme shot him a startled glance that quickly turned disapproving. Anakin's eyes widened, and a smile of new respect curved over his lips. One corner of Obi-Wan's mouth twitched in a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

"Yes, sir!" Anakin beamed.

He jumped into the cockpit, fitted the power pack into its sleeve in the control panel, and set the activator to the ON position. Then he pulled on his old, dented racing helmet and gloves. As he did so, Obi-Wan felt a faint whisper of warning in the Force and peered around for Jar Jar. The Gungan, who had been fiddling around at the back of one of the engines, managed to get his hand caught in the afterburner. He began leaping up and down in terror, his mouth still numb from the shock he had received from the energy binders, his bill flapping to no discernible purpose. Padme caught sight of him at the same time that Obi-Wan did and grabbed one of his frantically milling arms to yank him free. An instant later, the engines ignited. Flame exploded from the afterburners, and a huge roar rose from the sleek Radon – Ulzer fighter engines, building steadily in pitch until Anakin eased off on the thrusters. Then the noise settled back into a throaty rumble.

Obi-Wan, Padme, Jar Jar, Kitster, and even Artoo all cheered. Then Obi-Wan glanced toward the house, where Shmi was still looking on. Her eyes seemed distant and sad, and there was no smile on her lips.  



	17. Resurgence

_Memories are like the weather. They never come when they're convenient. When you want to build a snowman, you get a heatwave. All you can do is sweat your way through.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear. _

"Is his arm okay?" asked Padme as she slipped outside. Anakin had gouged his arm sometime during the day's work on the podracer, and like any typical boy, hadn't even noticed it until just before bedtime. Obi-Wan had taken him outside to clean the wound, and the two of them had sat outside talking until Shmi finally lost patience and called her son back inside to bed.

Obi-Wan nodded, but his tone was distant as he replied, "Yes, he's fine."

"You're not," she frowned, running her hand lightly up his arm.

"I told Qui-Gon about Anakin this afternoon. He was as intrigued by him as I am…more so. In any case, I transmitted a reading on his blood back to the ship, and Qui-Gon ran a midichlorian test on it," he said.

"A what?" she frowned, perplexed.

"Midichlorians are microscopic lifeforms that live inside the body; they have a symbiotic relationship with the beings they inhabit. They are part of what allows the Jedi to be aware of and use the Force," he explained.

"What did the test show?" she asked.

"The reading was off the scale. Higher than even Master Yoda, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order," he said.

Padme sucked in a gasp of surprise. "Obi-Wan, what does that mean?"

"I don't know," he said with a mystified shake of his head. "Qui-Gon doesn't either. But now I think he is convinced that Anakin must be trained."

"Is that such a bad thing?" she asked.

"I told you yesterday. It's dangerous," he sighed.

"Anakin is a good person! He has a good heart," she planted her hands on her hips.

"I know that," Obi-Wan replied sharply. "I care for him too, Padme!"

She winced. "I'm sorry. I can see that."

He nodded stiffly. "I apologize. I—don't know what made me speak to you like that."

"You've been under a lot of stress," she reminded him, slipping her arms around him. She hugged him tightly, giving him no chance to pull away as she feared he might, and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

Instead of trying to pull away, though, he wound his own arms around her in response. His embrace was fierce and full of longing. As he dropped his head to bury his face in her hair, she suddenly became conscious that this might be the very last time she was ever in his arms this way. "Please, let's not argue. We'll have to leave tomorrow if he wins, and—I don't even want to think about what will happen if he doesn't."

"I know," he nodded. "I don't want to go either."

She wanted to ask if he had made any decision, but she had promised herself that she would be patient enough to wait until he broached the subject. She didn't want him to feel as if she was pressuring him. The kind of choice he had to make was unfathomable to her.

"Just hold me," she whispered instead.

"I'm not sure if Qui-Gon could tell anything was amiss tonight," he said in a strained tone.

"Didn't you speak to him about us?" she asked.

"I think it's better for me to talk to him about this when we're back on the ship. It's going to be a rather long and difficult conversation, and I can't risk that over the comlink," he replied.

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" she observed.

"Qui-Gon is my friend as well as my mentor. I don't like keeping secrets from him," he replied.

"I don't blame you," she murmured.

He sighed and fell silent, but she could still feel the tension in his body. Peering up at him, she asked, "What is it? There's something else bothering you."

"Something…strange happened to me when I was talking to Shmi," he admitted slowly.

"What do you mean, strange?" she asked.

"We were discussing Anakin. She asked me if I could help him. And—I—it doesn't even make sense," he sighed.

"Just tell me," she encouraged.

"Padme, it wasn't her anymore. It wasn't her eyes I was looking into. I mean, physically I was still standing here on Tatooine, but…I was somewhere else. And the woman I was looking at…"

"Who was she?" Padme asked gently, though she already had a good idea.

"I don't know," he said.

"What do you feel?" she prompted.

"I feel—I felt—as if the woman whose I was looking into was my mother. I don't remember my mother. I don't remember anything about her other than what I told you last night," he sighed.  
"Do you remember anything else? Not about her, just…anything?" Padme asked.

"I don't—I'm not supposed to—"

She raised her hand, pressing two fingers lightly to his lips. "They're your memories. They're already there. They're part of you. Acknowledging them can't hurt you."

"Jedi are not supposed to focus on the past," he said.

"By that logic, anything you've learned in the past is irrelevant. Thinking about the past is not the same as focusing your life there," she replied.

"But what good will it do me to remember any of this?"

"It's part of who you are," she frowned, surprised at the question.

"How can it be?" he asked with honest confusion. "Everything I actually remember, everything I've learned in my life comes from the Jedi Temple—or from Qui-Gon."

"Our families are part of us whether we know it or not, whether we want them to be or not," she told him. "Sometimes I find myself doing things that I never even realized I did, and I know it's not anything I _learned_ from my parents, but it's exactly like one of them. Or my sister will tell me that when I look at her a certain way, it's precisely the way our mother looks. The older I get, the more I see them in myself, and the more alike that Sola and I become. And I see more of our parents in her than I do even in myself."

He stared at her for a minute, seeming unsure of whether he believed what she was saying or not, but something in his eyes told her that he desperately wanted to. "Like what?"

"Well…Sola has my father's laugh," she told him with a fond smile, trying to think of a trait that couldn't possibly have been learned or even absorbed by being raised around her parents. "It's a really big laugh that starts in their stomachs, and their eyes get very bright and crinkle at the edges. If they both get going, it fills up the whole house."

A reluctant smile twitched over his mouth. Encouraged, Padme creased her brow and thought for a minute, searching her memory for the things she had taken so much for granted that they were difficult to call to mind. After a few moments, she snickered.

"She sneezes like my mother."

"Sneezes?"

"Mmm-hmm," Padme nodded. "In threes."

"Threes?"

Grinning a little, Padme took a step back and demonstrated, sneezing three times in quick succession. Each sneeze became a bit more pronounced, and she kept her index finger under her nostrils, as if by doing so she could ward off or control the force of the sneezes.

"That's very good," Obi-Wan laughed. "So how do you sneeze?"

She blinked. "I just…sneeze?"

"Show me."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I can't fake my own sneeze," she shook her head.

"You could imitate Sola's sneeze," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I pay more attention to Sola's sneeze than my own sneeze. Sola's sneeze is funny," she said.

"Come on."

"Come on what?"

"Try."

"Obi-Wan, I can't sneeze unless I sneeze," she insisted laughing.

"Oh, all right," he relented. "I suppose I'll just have to wait for you to sneeze then."

"Well, I must have sneezed yesterday when we were in the storm," she reminded him. "What did it sound like?"

"I don't know, Padme, I was bit too preoccupied with the possibility of imminent death to notice what anyone's sneeze sounded like," he replied.

"I guess you'll just have to wait then," she shrugged.

"You don't feel a sneeze coming on or anything, do you?"

"No, sorry," she giggled.

"All right. I'll resign myself to waiting then."

"Patience is supposed to be a Jedi trait," she teased.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, smiling.

"So, tell me what else you remember about your family," she prompted.

His smile faded, and a frown creased his brow. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, his expression growing distant and pensive. Padme waited, sensing that she shouldn't push him any farther on this subject.

"Grass," he said finally, his tone soft and far away.

"Grass?" Padme's eyes widened, and she felt her breath catch, but she said no more.

"Tall grass. It's very green and thick. We…were hiding in it, I think," he explained.

"You and your mother?"

He shook his head, _ "Tieso..." _

"What?"

"My brother," he said, giving his head another shake.

"His name's Tieso?" she raised her eyebrow.

"No, his name's Owen," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes growing wide at the realization.

"Is he older or younger?" Padme asked, keeping her voice quiet and casual even though she felt a mounting urgency. If he didn't remember now—if they left and he went back to his Master and the Jedi temple without all of it firmly rooted in his mind—he would never allow these memories to surface again. The urgency she felt had nothing to do with what was happening between them; he had to remember his family, no matter decision he made about their future together. She couldn't imagine having spent her whole life with no knowledge of her own family, her heritage, with no understanding of where she had come from or what made her the person she was.

"Older," he replied, his voice shaky but certain.

"Why are the two of you hiding in the grass?" she prompted. "Are you in danger?"

"No," he shook his head again, slowly this time, his brow furrowing deeply as he struggled to remember. 

"It's—fun?"

"Hide and seek?" she asked.

"Maybe…"

"Anything else?"

He held himself completely still for a long time, straining against the invisible barrier of time and his own youth. There wouldn't be much; he'd been so young when he left them. She was surprised he even remembered as much as he did.

"The sun on my head," he said at length. "It feels good. The air's cool—wildflowers—cinnamon—but I think that's last night. Things are getting jumbled."

"Can you see anything?" Padme asked, wondering exactly what it was that he had dreamed the night before. In her dream, the only hint of cinnamon had been on his breath. She didn't want to ask him now, though. She didn't want to take the chance of causing him to confuse dream memories with the ones they were trying to uncover.

He shook his head. "No, just the grass."

"Where's Owen? You said he was there with you," she attempted.

"Somewhere close, but I can't see him," he shook his head again. "It's all just flashes. That's all there is."

He broke off and moved away from her, his whole body suddenly consumed in a shudder. Raking his fingers through his short-cropped hair, he let out an explosive breath and stared out into the desert. Padme bit her lip, wanting to help him but unsure how.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded sharply. Then he spun to face her again. "Padme, I have to help Anakin and Shmi."

"All right…" she said slowly, not quite sure how they had gone from discussing his memories of his family to discussing the Skywalkers. Still it was Anakin and Shmi who seemed to trigger the few vague memories he had, so she supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised.

"I'm going to talk to Watto tomorrow before the race," he told her.

"And say what?" she asked, faintly alarmed.

"I don't know yet. I promise you, I won't put the mission in jeopardy, but I have to try."


	18. The Leading Edge

_Never bet on rain in the desert. Unless you're a Ka'andesi.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

Obi-Wan strolled through the main hangar of the Mos Espa Podracer arena, glancing at the activity about him with keen interest, but he kept his posture and expression entirely casual. The hangar was a cavernous building that housed Podracers and equipment year round and served as a staging area for vehicles and crews on race days. A handful of racers were already in place on the service pads, dozens of aliens who had found their way to Tatooine from every corner of the galaxy crawling all over the Pods and engines as pit bosses and pilots shouted instructions. The clash and shriek of metal on metal echoed in an earsplitting din through the hangar's vast chamber, forcing conversations to be held at something approaching a shout.  
Jar Jar hovered close at Obi-Wan's left shoulder while Watto buzzed close by the right. The Gungan was his normal fretful, nervous self, eyes rolling on their stalks, head twisting this way and that with such frantic concern it seemed certain it must soon twist off altogether. Watto flew with blatant disregard for everything but his own conversation, which rambled on and on, covering the same points endlessly.

Obi-Wan listened patiently, waiting for an opening of some kind. He wasn't entirely sure what that opening would be; in fact, he wasn't certain what he intended to accomplish here. However, he had given his word to Shmi, and he felt that he would be remiss if he did not at least try to do something to help her and Anakin. He knew that, eventually, the Force would provide him with the opportunity he needed, and until then he contented himself with listening to the Toydarian's rambling.

"So it must be understood clearly that our bargain is sealed, outlander," Watto repeated for at least the third time in the last ten minutes. His blue-snouted head bobbed with emphasis. "I'll want to see your spaceship the moment the race is over."  
He made no bones about the fact that he believed that gaining lawful possession of the Naboo transport was only a matter of time. Not once since Obi-Wan had found him at the betting booths had he suggested that things might end in any other manner.

"Patience, my blue friend. You'll have your winnings before the suns set, and my companions and I will be far away from here."

"Not if your ship belongs to me, I think!" Watto snorted, and gave a satisfied laugh. Just as quickly, his sharp eyes fixed on the Jedi. "I warn you, no funny business!"

"You don't think Anakin will win?" Obi-Wan asked calmly.

Watto flew around in front of him and brought them all to a stop. Wings beating furiously, he motioned to a bright orange racer parked close at hand, its engines modified so that when the energy binders were activated and the engines joined, they formed a distinctive X-shape. Sitting to one side of the racer was Sebulba, the Dug who had attacked Jar Jar two days earlier. His wicked eyes were fixed on them, his slender limbs dran up in a vaguely menacing gesture. A pair of lithesome Twi'leks worked diligently massaging the Dug's neck and shoulders. The Twi'leks were humanoid aliens from the planet Ryloth; they had pointed teeth, smooth blue skin, and twin tentacles that draped gracefully from their hairless heads down their silken backs. Their red eyes lifted to Obi-Wan momentarily, interest flickering in their depths, then returned quickly to their master.

"Don't get me wrong. I have great faith in the boy. He's a credit to your race," Watto shook his head in an odd cocking motion, and his snaggletoothed mouth tightened. "But Sebulba there is going to win, I think."

"Why?" asked Obi-Wan, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as the Force whispered wordlessly through him. This was the chance he was waiting for. He studied the Dug carefully, waiting and watching. What would it be?

"Because he always wins!" Watto broke into a fit of laughter, consumed by his own cleverness. "I'm betting heavily on Sebulba!"

"I'll take that bet," Obi-Wan said at once. The words were out of his mouth before he realized that he was going to speak them. He had learned the danger of impulsive behavior long ago, and he did not believe in taking unnecessary risks. In fact, this was a source of continued contention between himself and his Master. He thought with faint amusement that a wager like this was exactly the sort of thing that Qui-Gon would have suggested, and if he had seen his teacher do so, he would have been very nervous. Even then, he felt no hesitation, no apprehension that he was, in fact, wagering a pod that did not belong to him. There was only the perfect clarity of Force-given insight. Anakin would win.

Watto stopped laughing instantly, jerking away as if scalded by hot oil. "What?" He shook his head in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

"I'll wager my new racing Pod against..." Obi-Wan advanced a step, backing the Toydarian away, and he let his voice trail off thoughtfully. "The boy and his mother."

"I don't think so!" The blue wings were a blur as Watto flitted this way and that, head cocked. "Well, perhaps. Just one. The mother, maybe. The boy isn't for sale."

Obi-Wan frowned. "The boy is small. He can't be worth much."

Watto shook his head decisively.

"For the fastest Pod ever built?"

Watto shook his head again.

"Both, or no bet," pressed Obi-Wan.

They were standing near the front entry of the hangar, and the noise of the crew work had lessened. Beyond, the arena stands rose against the desert sky, a vast, curved complex complete with boxes for the Hutts, a race announcer's booth, course monitoring equipment, and food stands. Already the stands were beginning to fill, the population of Mos Espa turning out in full force for the event, shops and stalls closed, the entire city on holiday. Bright streamers and banners flew, and approaching racers flamed with the reflection of sunlight and polish.  
Obi-Wan caught sight of Anakin in the crowd. The boy was riding an eopie with Padme up behind him, towing one of the massive Radon - Ulzer engines. His friend Kitster followed on a second eopie, towing the other engine. The eopies were gangly, long-snouted pack animals with tough, leathery skin and short fur particularly well-suited to resisting the Tatooine desert heat. Artoo Detoo and See-Threepio trailed the little procession with the Pod and Shmi. Obi-Wan deliberately turned to watch their approach, drawing Watto's gaze after his own. The Toydarian's eyes glittered at the sight of the boy and the racer.

He looked back at the Padawan and gave an anxious snort. "No Pod's worth two slaves...not by a long shot! One slave or nothing!"

Obi-Wan folded his arms over his chest."The boy, then."

Watto huffed and shook his head. He jerked with the tension that his deliberation was generating inside his pudgy blue body. He didn't believe that Anakin would win, and the chance at gaining so much was tempting. Still, there was at least a minute possibility that Anakin would be able to beat out the other competitors.

"No, no..."

Then abruptly he reached inside his pocket and produced a small cube, which he tossed from one hand to the other as if it were too hot to hold. "I happen to have a chance cube here. We'll let fate decide. Blue, it's the boy. Red, it's the mother."  
Obi-Wan gave a casual nod of assent, making it seem as if he didn't particularly care how the toss turned out. Watto cast the cube to the hangar floor. As he did, the Padawan made a small, surreptitious gesture with one hand, calling on his Jedi power to produce a small inflection in the Force.

The cube bounced, rolled, settled, blue side facing up. Watto threw up his hands angrily, his eyes turning narrow and sharp. Obi-Wan regarded the cube with the same nonchalant expression he had worn thus far.

"You won the toss, outlander!" Watto sneered in dismissal. "But you won't win the race, so it makes little difference, I think."

It did make a difference, of course. Anakin won the Boonta Eve Classic, just as Obi-Wan had known he would. Afterward, Watto tried to renege on the deal, railing that the Jedi had somehow cheated him. Obi-Wan supposed that he was technically correct, but his only response was to inquire coolly whether the Toydarian would like to discuss the matter with the Hutts. Watto, of course, did not, so Obi-Wan instructed him to have the parts brought to the main hangar and said that he would come to the shop later to collect Anakin.

He watched, smiling a little as the rest of the group congratulated Anakin on his win, but kept himself on the edge of the little gathering, waiting for the parts to arrive. Only now was the import of what he had done beginning to sink in. He had, in essence, freed Anakin Skywalker from slavery, but the boy had no means of supporting himself. He was far more mature than a typical human child his age; he handled a Podracer incredibly well, and his untrained, instinctive use of the Force was remarkable. He had an untapped potential far beyond anything that Obi-Wan would ever possess—indeed, beyond anything the Padwan had even heard about. Still, there was no way that Obi-Wan could guarantee that Anakin would be trained as a Jedi. The fact was, his better judgment still told him that Anakin was too old to begin the training, no matter how strong in the Force he was. Regardless, he had now become Obi-Wan's responsibility. He had not even been knighted yet, and he now had a child in his care who was over three years too young to be a Padawan learner. To complicate matters further, he might well be leaving the Jedi Order very soon. Padme wanted _him_—was she going to want him _and_ a boy still not quite ten years old? Clearly, she cared for Anakin; that didn't mean she was going to want to help him _raise_ the boy.

Watto arrived with the parts as promised, though not without a considerable amount of grumbling. Obi-Wan walked over to the repulsorsled, which was harnessed to a pair of eopies, and gave the goods a thorough once-over. By the time he had finished, the rest of the party had filtered over to him, talking and laughing.

"Padme, Jar Jar, let's go," he said, climbing onto the back of one of the eopies. "We need to get these things back and be on our way."

Padme kissed Anakin again, then walked over to Obi-Wan's mount. He held out his hand to her, and she took it with a smile, climbing up behind him. She slipped her arms tightly around his waist, and he allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the contact, to simply feel the press of her body against his back. Then he turned to look at Jar Jar. The Gungan swung onto the second animal and promptly slid off the other side, collapsing in a heap. Artoo beeped encouragingly as he tried again, and this time Jar Jar managed to keep his seat. Goodbyes and thank yous were exchanged, and Anakin moved up beside Obi-Wan and Padme's mount, looking as if he wanted to say something. Obi-Wan waited, but all that the boy managed was a sad, confused look. The Padawan smiled, feeling a sudden surge of warmth toward him.

"I'll be back," he promised.

Anakin's expression shifted, blossoming into a bright and unguarded grin. Despite his apprehensions, Obi-Wan felt the heaviness in his chest ease a bit. He couldn't quite believe what was happening here, and he couldn't fathom why Anakin's freedom should mean so much to him when all it did was heap an added burden of responsibility on him. His own future was still in flux. Padme Naberrie was waiting for him to make a decision, and he felt that no matter what choice he made, he was about to lose a part of himself that was so fundamental that to be without it would be the same as being without the ability to see—he might learn to adjust and accept the loss, but he would never be the same person again. Yet even in the face of that loss, he suddenly knew that one thing was certain. Anakin Skywalker was coming with him.


	19. Shifting Tides

_Duty can be like frost on the heart, but even hard frost breaks in the spring.  
—The Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

"Are you all right?" Padme asked as they rode out of the city.

"Yes," nodded Obi-Wan. 

He had been quiet since they left the hangar, saying little and not even bothering to show any annoyance toward Jar Jar, who was chattering on amiably about the excitement of the race and how well that Ani had done. She assumed that he was preoccupied with the approaching reunion with his master and with what would happen to them when they left Tatooine.

Her own stomach tightened at the thought. Her mouth went dry, and she wanted badly to rest her head on his shoulder, to enjoy one last moment of intimate contact. She had no idea if they would have an opportunity to be alone together between now and when they reached Coruscant. Once there, she must leave behind her disguise and resume her duties as Queen Amidala.

"Are you?" he asked, his hand slipping off the eopie's reins to cover hers. She hadn't realized how cold her hands had become, and only when his fingers enveloped hers did she realize that she was suddenly shaking.

"I—" she started to say, then glanced at Jar Jar. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she replied, "There's something I need to tell you later."

He gave a slight nod. "I should tell you something too."

"What is it?" she swallowed nervously.

"It's…about Anakin."

"Anakin?" she frowned. "What about him?"

"I convinced Watto to put up Anakin's freedom in a game of chance before the race," he said. "He told me he was betting on Sebulba to win and I challenged him. If Anakin won, Watto would free him; if Sebulba won I was supposed to give him the Podracer," he explained.

"But the Pod belonged to Anakin!" she said, wanting to laugh but too shocked to actually do so.

"I know. It was rather unscrupulous, but I knew that Anakin would win," he said.

"What do you mean, you knew?" she frowned.

"I felt it. In the Force. I knew he was going to win," he explained.

"You didn't know that yesterday," her frown deepened. "You were worried. You told me you didn't even know if you were doing the right thing."

"I didn't," he agreed. "But when we were standing there, I knew. I had no idea what I was going to say to Watto when I went to talk to him. Then as we were talking, I suddenly knew it—and I knew what I was supposed to do."

"That's…" she trailed off, unsure of exactly what she wanted to say. It was impulsive, even a bit reckless, and not at all what she had come to expect of him. She had no idea what to think about his assertion that the Force had told him Anakin would succeed. She didn't doubt his competence; she had seen him do far too much since he had helped Qui-Gon rescue her on Naboo, but she simply had no basis upon which to judge such a statement. She knew that the Force existed, believed in its power, but the relationship between it and the Jedi Order mystified her.

"Do you still…?" he let the question fade away uncertainly, and it took her several seconds to realize what he was trying to ask.

"Of course!" she purposely lowered her voice to keep it from rising.

The muscles in his back palpably relaxed. She had wanted to be indignant at the very notion that Anakin would not be welcome, but when she realized how very anxious he had been, she couldn't muster anything but affection and tenderness for him. She hadn't exactly bargained for the responsibility of caring for a child, but then again, neither had Obi-Wan, and neither one of them had expected to find _romance_ in Mos Espa. He'd never expected any such thing to have a place in his life; no wonder he wasn't sure how to handle this.

"I didn't mean to imply—" he broke off.

"I know," she sighed, raising her hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"Please," he agreed.

"Are you…going to train him?" she asked, not certain what answer she was hoping for. On the one hand, Obi-Wan had already expressed to her that Ani had a remarkable gift. How could someone so strong in the Force not be trained as a Jedi. On the other hand, if Obi-Wan decided to teach Anakin, wouldn't that mean that both of them would be remaining in the Jedi Order? Yet, he had just asked her whether she was still interested in him. Why would he ask that question if he didn't want to come—or was at least thinking about coming—back to Naboo with her?

"As a Jedi?" his voice held a note of incredulity.

"It seems a shame to let his potential go to waste," she bit her lip. 

"Well—I haven't the authority to decide, and my own training is not complete. If the Council decides that he should be trained, I—it wouldn't be me," he said awkwardly.

"Oh," her heart sank at the reply.

"It would be his choice," Obi-Wan added softly.

"And…your choice?" she asked, lowering her voice still further and hardly daring to breathe.  
He heaved a long sigh. "The last thing I told Anakin before the race was to focus on the moment. I told him to feel and not think. I'm not sure that entirely applies in this case, but it is something Qui-Gon told me not too long ago. I need to speak to him."

"Obi-Wan, whatever you decide, nothing will change for me," she told him.

In response, he inclined his head. She felt a moment of unease when he offered no reciprocal promise. It made her chest ache with emptiness and sorrow, but she supposed he was only being honest. From what he had explained to her the other night, the Jedi way required not only that he give up their relationship but that he give up the _feelings_ he had for her. Truthfully, she didn't see how that was possible. She couldn't imagine how these emotions which, in the space of a few short days, had become so central to her being, could ever simply not be there anymore, dissipated into some sort of empty, bloodless serenity for the sake of oneness with the Force.

In fact, she decided, if that was what it meant to be one with the Force, she was glad that she had never been chosen to be a Jedi. There was something intrinsically wrong with the Jedi indictment of marriage. Everything he had told her about his training indicated that emotion, not intellect, was the key to a Jedi's connection with the Force. How was he supposed to become "one with the Force" by denying an integral part of his own emotional make—up, divorcing himself from feelings that didn't correspond to some convoluted theological ideal? Every sentient race that Padme had ever encountered had a word for love. Some had more than one. Love was part of what it meant to be alive. If the Force was present in all living things, if it in some way was both created and responsible for life, how could a Jedi be one with it, understand its will, if he was not allowed to experience love in what was possibly its purest form—if he was not allowed to participate in the kind of love that created and sustained life? There had to be some other answer.

He had said that strong emotions clouding judgment, and even causing a Jedi to fall to the Dark Side, to become like the Sith. A chill passed through her even at the idea, but she stubbornly held her mental ground. She could already see that he was a passionate and deeply caring man, and yet he was also capable of making rational decisions, distancing himself from his emotional biases when he had to. Panaka had questioned his decision to come here, but it had been the right choice. So had his insistence upon helping Anakin and Shmi, even when he couldn't explain why he was so compelled. His filial devotion to Qui-Gon hadn't clouded his judgment or twisted him into something evil, even when he watched his Master be shot down on the way off of Naboo. She didn't see how romantic attachment could be any different, in terms of its ability to skew perceptions or cloud judgment, than the fierce and enduring bond that existed between him and Qui-Gon.

Some Jedi may not have been able to discern the difference between love and obsession; some may have allowed sentiment to outweigh duty or passion to rule their actions. As far as Padme Amidala was concerned, Obi-Wan Kenobi could never be one of them. He could be stubborn and thickheaded. His methods may not have always been wise, but he did what he believed was right. He was slow to anger, keenly aware of the universe in which he lived, always did what he thought was the best interest of those in his charge, and he hadn't acted with the slightest impropriety toward her at any time during this excursion to Mos Espa, even when he must have known that she would willingly have accepted any romantic overture he made.

Tears stung her eyes not at the thought that she might lose him but that he might choose the Jedi way over his love for her, and in doing so, it would become as if his feelings for her had never existed. She could accept the thought of being apart from him, even forever, if the Jedi way of life would truly make him happy. What she couldn't accept—what she couldn't even stomach—was the notion that the love he professed for her might actually be of so little value to him that he would surrender it to a religious ideal that was inherently faulty.

The smooth silver gleam of the Queen's transport wavered into view through the visible wall of desert heat, glistening around the edges with the added sheen of Padme's tears. She drew in a determined breath and forced those tears aside, squaring her shoulders. Obi-Wan tensed, and as the eopies halted in front of the ship, she was surprised to see the tall, imposing figure of Qui-Gon Jinn making his way down the ramp.

"He shouldn't be walking yet," she remarked.

"Jedi healing techniques can accelerate tissue regeneration," he explained, then dropped the reigns and slid off their mount without another word. He held up his hands to help her down, and she let him, only half-conscious of the way his hands slid up her sides as she landed with a soft thump of her boots in the sand.

Qui-Gon was too close now for her to say anything else to Obi-Wan, so she simply smiled her thanks. He bowed with perfect, cool formality and then turned to face his approaching Master. Qui-Gon halted a few paces in front of them, a funny little half smile playing over his features as he regarded the repulsorsled with its cargo of hyperdrive parts.

"So, my Padawan, it appears your plan was successful," he said with a mixture of amusement and approval.

"So it appears, Master," Obi-Wan replied.

Qui-Gon nodded slightly, then turned to Panaka and Ric Olie, who had come out after him. Waving his arm toward the eopies, he said, "Start getting these parts inside. We should be on our way, quickly."

"Master, there is something else," Obi-Wan ventured tentatively.

"Oh?" Qui-Gon turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. His gaze flicked briefly to Padme, but she looked back steadily, schooling her features into an icy mask that betrayed not even a wisp of guilt or embarrassment.

"It's the boy who is responsible for acquiring these parts. The one whose blood sample I sent last night. I've—managed to convince his owner to part with him," explained Obi-Wan, his brow wrinkling with discomfort as he spoke the words.

That quirk of a smile on Qui-Gon's mouth widened, becoming a half-grin that was both sardonic and approving. He reached out, clasping his protégé by the shoulder, and nodded. "You have done well, Obi-Wan. Very well."


	20. Drifting Sands

_Pilgrim, it's a long way  
To find out who you are…  
—Excerpt from Drifting Sands, published in Teaching Songs of the Ka'andesi, collected by Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

Obi-Wan felt Anakin's anger before he saw the boy. He followed it and found a crowd of children surrounding Anakin and a larger being, a Rodian, whom Anakin was pummeling in the dust of the street. The Padawan waded in and caught hold of the boy's arm, dragging him to his feet with just a hint of roughness.

"What's this about?" he demanded sternly.

"He said I cheated," glowered Anakin.

"But you know you didn't," Obi-Wan said.

The boy gave an emphatic nod. 

Obi-Wan turned his eyes toward the Rodian, who had managed to get to his feet by then. "Do you still think he cheated?"

The Rodian nodded just as emphatically as Anakin had.

Obi-Wan's gaze turned back to his new charge. "And you will just have to live with his opinion. Fighting does not change anything."

Anakin gave him a sour look, which he ignored, and started off down the street without further comment. The boy trotted after him, still glaring at his back for a while, until finally his anger subsided and he fell into step beside the Jedi. Obi-Wan glanced at him, suppressing the twitch at the corners of his mouth which threatened to become a smile. As they neared the boy's home, the Jedi reached beneath his poncho and produced a leather pouch filled with credits.  
"These are yours," he announced. "I sold the Pod."

Anakin wrinkled his brow. "You what?"

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. "To a particularly surly and rather insistent Dug."  
Anakin's face broke into a grin, and he accepted the bag, the fight and its cause forgotten. "Not bad."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan inclined his head.

They reached the house, and Anakin raced inside. Obi-Wan followed, feeling a mix of anticipation and apprehension, both of which he allowed to pass out of him again, which was the way of the Jedi. Shmi emerged from her workroom, and the boy ran up to her.

"Mom, Mom!" he cried out as she appeared. "Guess what! Obi-Wan sold the Pod! Look at all the money we have!"

"Oh, my goodness! she breathed softly, staring down at the bulging pouch, which he dropped into her hands. "Ani, that's wonderful!"

Then her eyes lifted from her son to Obi-Wan, a question clear in her gaze.

"Anakin has been freed," he said, taking a step forward.

The boy spun to face him. "What?"

"You are no longer a slave," Obi-Wan said calmly.

Shmi Skywalker stared at the Jedi in disbelief, her worn face rigid, her eyes mirroring her shock and disbelief.

"Mom? Did you hear that, Mom?" Anakin let out a whoop and ran over to Obi-Wan, flinging his arms around the Jedi. Startled, Obi-Wan froze, shooting Shmi a questioning glance of his own. She only smiled, and slowly he returned the embrace.

After a moment, Anakin stepped back. "Was that part of the prize, or what?"  
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Let's just say that Watto has learned an important lesson about gambling."  
Anakin grinned again and turned back to his mother, who drew him into her arms.

"Now you can make your dreams come true, Annie," she whispered, her face radiant as she touched his cheek. "You're free."

She released him and turned to Obi-Wan, her eyes bright and expectant. "Will you take him with you? Is he to become a Jedi?"

Anakin beamed at the suggestion, wheeling quickly on Obi-Wan, waiting for his answer. The Padawan hesitated. "Our meeting was not a coincidence. Nothing happens by accident. You are strong in the Force, Anakin, but you may not be accepted by the Council." "A Jedi!" Anakin gasped, hearing only what he wanted to hear. "You mean I get to go with you in your starship and everything!" Obi-Wan's brow creased in concern, and he made his expression as somber as he could. "Anakin, training to be a Jedi will not be easy. It will be a challenge. And if you succeed, it will be a hard life."

Anakin shook his head quickly. "But it's what I want! It's what I've always dreamed about!"

Obi-Wan's frown deepened. He said nothing, clasping his hands in front of him. Anakin looked quickly to his mother.

"Can I go, Mom?"

"Anakin," Shmi replied, slowly and thoughtfully, "This path has been placed before you. The choice to take it must be yours alone."

Anakin paused, taking in his mother's words. Then he looked between her and Obi-Wan. "I want to go!"

"Then pack your things," Obi-Wan told him. "We haven't much time."

Yippee!" the boy shouted, jumping up and down, anxious already to be on his way. He rushed back to his mother and hugged her as hard as he could manage, then broke away for his bedroom. He was almost to the doorway when he wheeled around again to give Obi-Wan a startled look. "What about Mom?"

The Jedi didn't answer. Anakin's eyes darted from him to Shmi and back again. "Is she free, too? You're coming, aren't you, Mom?"

Obi-Wan exchanged a worried glance with the woman. "I tried to free your mother, Anakin, but Watto wouldn't have it. Slaves give status and lend prestige to their owners here on Tatooine."  
"But the money from selling..."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "It's not nearly enough."

A hush fell over the room, and then Shmi Skywalker moved to the chair beside her son and sat down, drawing him close. Her eyes were steady as she looked into his. "Ani, my place is here. My future is here. It is time for you to let go—to let go of me. I cannot go with you."  
"I want to stay with you, then. I don't want things to change."

She gave him an encouraging smile, her brow knitting. "You can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting. Listen to your feelings, Ani. You know what's right."  
Anakin Skywalker took a long, slow breath and dropped his gaze, his head lowering. Obi-Wan glanced at the floor as well, feeling the same peculiar sensation he had experienced the day before. Though he knew, intellectually, that he still stood in the dingy hovel of the Skywalkers' home on Tatooine, his spirit felt as though he was elsewhere, and that the woman who spoke was not Anakin's mother.

His future is out there…in the stars…

"I'm going to miss you so much, Mom!" Anakin was saying. 

"I love you, Ani," his mother replied. "Now hurry."

The boy ran off to his room, and Shmi's eyes followed him. She kept herself utterly still, and Obi-Wan felt her conflicting emotions wash over him in waves, so freely and powerfully that the force of them startled the young Jedi. Grief—hope—love—fear—loneliness. He wasn't sure what compelled him to step forward then, but he did, hesitantly touching her shoulder. She jumped a bit and turned to look up at him with eyes which were not her own.  
"I will watch after him," he promised. "You have my word."

"Thank you," she nodded.

"Will you be all right?" he asked.

She gave another nod, a bit weaker than the first. "He was in my life for…"

_…such a short time. _

Shmi didn't finish the statement, though and Obi-Wan let his hand fall away. Anakin emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later with a small, ragged backpack slung over one shoulder. He said goodbye to Shmi again, extracted a promise from her that she wouldn't sell Threepio, and then the two of them were on their way, Anakin trudging silently along behind Obi-Wan.

They had gotten barely a dozen meters when Kitster, who had trailed them back from the fight, came rushing up to them. With a faint sigh, Obi-Wan halted to allow the two boys a moment for farewells. Something told him that they needed to be on the move, and it was more than the blatantly obvious fact that the Naboo were suffering.

"Where are you going, Ani?" Kitster asked worriedly.

Anakin took a deep breath. "I've been freed, Kitster. I'm going away with Obi-Wan. On a spaceship."

Kitster's eyes went wide, and his mouth opened in a silent exclamation. Anakin fished in his pockets and came out with a handful of credits, which he shoved at his friend. "Here. These are for you."

Kitster's dark face looked down at the credits, then back up at Anakin. "Do you have to go, Ani? Do you have to? Can't you stay? Ani, you're a hero!"

Anakin swallowed hard. "I..." He glanced past Kitster to his mother, still standing in the doorway looking after him, then up at Obi-Wan who was waiting beside him. He shook his head. "I can't."

Kitster nodded. "Well."

"Well," Anakin repeated, looking at him.

"Thanks for everything, Ani," the other boy said. There were tears in his eyes as he accepted the credits. "You're my best friend."

Anakin bit his lip. "I won't forget."

The two boys hugged briefly, then Obi-Wan and Anakin started out again. After a few paces, Anakin halted again, looking back over his shoulder. Obi-Wan felt an instant of annoyance, but it crumpled in on itself as Anakin raced back to Shmi.

He clung to her, crying, "I can't do it, Mom! I just can't!"

Shmi let him hold onto her for a moment, then she stepped back and knelt in front of him. "Ani, remember when you climbed that dune in order to chase the banthas away so they wouldn't be shot? You were only five. Remember how you collapsed several times in the heat, exhausted, thinking you couldn't do it, that it was too hard?"

Obi-Wan saw Anakin give a faint nod.

Shmi held her son's gaze. "This is one of those times when you have to do something you don't think you can do. But I know how strong you are, Ani. I know you can do this."

"Will I ever see you again?" he asked.

"What does your heart tell you?" she asked quietly.

Anakin shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know. Yes, I guess."

His mother nodded. "Then it will happen, Ani."

Anakin took a deep breath to steady himself. He had stopped crying now, and he wiped the tears from his face. "I will become a Jedi. And I will come back and free you, Mom. I promise."

"No matter where you are, my love will be with you," Shmi told him, her kind face bent close to his.

"Now be brave, and don't look back."

"I love you, Mom," Anakin said.

She hugged him one final time, then turned him around so he was facing away from her. "Don't look back, Ani."

She gave him a small push, and he strode determinedly away, shouldering his pack, keeping his eyes fixed on a point well past where Obi-Wan stood waiting. He walked toward that point without slowing, marching right past the Padawan.

They went to Watto's shop first, where the Toydarian had completed the forms necessary to assure Anakin's freedom. The transmitter that bound Anakin to his life of slavery was deactivated permanently. It would be removed surgically at a later date. Watto was still grumbling about the unfairness of things as they left him and went back out into the street. From there, at Anakin's urging, they started toward Jira's fruit stand. Anakin stopped twice, looking back over his shoulder uncertainly, and Obi-Wan thought that he was still contemplating returning to his mother.

"Anakin…" he began with a sigh.

"Wait," the boy said, spinning around. Rather than heading home, he ran back to Watto's, but instead of going inside, went across the street to the jewelry stand where Padme had seen the bracelet the day before. By the time Obi-Wan caught up with him, he had concluded his business and turned to the Jedi with something so like a scowl that Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up.

"What are you doing?" he demanded of the boy. "What's the matter?"

"Here," Anakin said without ceremony, shoving a familiar red bracelet at him.

"What…?" Obi-Wan's eyes widened.

"Just take it," said Anakin. "She wants you to give it to her."

"I can't—"

Anakin didn't bother listening to his argument, simply pushed the bracelet into his hands and shoved his way past, saying, "You can pay me back later if you want. Come on, I have to make sure Jira gets her cooling unit."


	21. Rainfall

_Jedi aren't the only ones with good instincts. Trust yours, kid.  
—Dannik Kenobi_

Obi-Wan was in trouble. Padme knew it somewhere deep inside herself, though she had no way of explaining that knowledge to Captain Panaka, who stood beside her in the hatchway of the Queen's transport. There was nothing in sight below them except for the open desert, but she knew. Then, abruptly, she caught sight of a small, familiar figure racing through the sand toward them. Instantly, she started down the ramp with Panaka at her heels.

"Obi-Wan's in trouble!" Anakin panted.

"Who are you?" demanded Panaka.

"He's a friend," Padme wasted no time with further explanations but grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him up the ramp with her. 

Qui-Gon was waiting in the hatchway and Anakin froze at the sight of the Jedi Master. "What's happening?"

"Obi-Wan's in trouble," he repeated with a gulp. "He says to take off now."

"Come on," Qui-Gon nodded, gesturing for Padme and Anakin to follow him. His wariness forgotten, Anakin raced after the elder Jedi, who led them into the cockpit. Padme crowded in behind them as Qui-Gon moved to the viewport.

"Take off," the Jedi directed the pilot. "Obi-Wan is in danger."

"I don't see anything—"

"Over there!" Anakin cut him off, jabbing a finger toward the viewport. He looked up pleadingly at Qui-Gon for support.

"Get us into the air and over there! Now!" Qui-Gon ordered, his usual gentle demeanor hardening with the urgency of the threat to his apprentice and friend. "Fly low!"

Olie was instantly in the pilot's chair, his hands moving over the controls to obey. Padme forced herself to breathe normally as the ship took off, forced his mind away from panic as they cut through the desert air toward her lover.

"There," Anakin pointed again as Qui-Gon came into view. As the ship moved closer, they could see him locked in a fierce duel with a black robed figure wielding what could only be a lightsaber—a red lightsaber.

"Stand by," Olie said as he brought the ship around and started to drop the ramp.

Nothing was visible through the swirling sand, and Padme's eyes moved automatically to the view screens, scanning frantically for Obi-Wan. Suddenly, Obi-Wan did appear, leaping onto the ramp, and Padme felt a moment of immense relief. Then she realized that the battle was not yet over. The monstrous attacker came after him, making a leap onto the ramp as they began to gain altitude.

The creature was off balance, though, and Obi-Wan moved toward him, taking up the fight again at the edge of the ramp. Padme stood transfixed as weapons whirled, unsure that this was a battle the Padawan could win.

_Obi-Wan! _ She screamed mentally, unable even to speak his name aloud.

Twice she thought he would fall, but he never did, and each time he recovered, she felt a little weaker. She felt a small hand slip into hers and finally tore his gaze from the screen to meet Anakin's blue eyes, which were wide and dark with fear. He gave her fingers a squeeze, then pulled away, hurrying toward the ramp.

Qui-Gon slid past her and raced through the hall with him. Padme followed, hovering in the doorway as they reached Obi-Wan. She wanted more than anything to run to him and wrap her arms around him, but with Qui-Gon there, she knew that she couldn't. Instead she gripped the doorframe, digging into it brutally with her fingernails.

"Are you all right?" Anakin blurted

Obi-Wan reassured him, but Qui-Gon continued to frown. "What sort of creature was it?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. But he was trained in the Jedi arts," replied Obi-Wan.

"My guess is he was after the queen," said Qui-Gon.

"Do you think he'll follow us?" asked the boy.

"We'll be safe enough once we're in hyperspace," Qui-Gon replied. "But I have no doubt he knows our destination. If he found us once, he can find us again."

"What are we going to do about it?" the boy demanded.

Obi-Wan turned to face him, eyebrows rising. "We?"

"Yes," Anakin nodded firmly.

Qui-Gon's mouth twitched. He turned toward the boy with a mixture of amusement and solemnity. "I don't believe we've met."

"Oh…" Obi-Wan gestured between them. "Anakin Skywalker, my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

------

Padme didn't know what compelled her into the main chamber that night. She had about heard Sio Bibble's message already from Sabe, but she felt the need to see it for herself. She didn't know what she thought it would accomplish, whether she believed that through seeing it with her own eyes she could determine whether or not it had been a trick or if it was simply her guilt that drove her. Perhaps it was simply her need to be doing something—anything—that felt useful and productive.

She had felt utterly useless when Obi-Wan was fighting that—thing—whatever it was. Uselessness was not an emotion that Padme Amidala was accustomed to feeling, and it was exacerbated by the fact that she had been given no chance to speak to him alone, to assure herself of his well-being.

There had been a brief consultation between Panaka and the Jedi after the attack, then he had disappeared with Qui-Gon and Anakin. Padme had slipped into the queen's personal chambers to confer with Panaka and her handmaidens, both about what had transpired in her absence and in regard to her expectations once they reached Coruscant. Anakin had reappeared some time after that, telling her that Qui-Gon had asked him a lot of questions but that he was nice—nicer, in fact, than Obi-Wan, even though he still though that he liked Obi-Wan a little better. He then exacted a promise from her not to _tell_ any of that to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan himself was still with Qui-Gon, behind the locked door of the room where he and Padme had recently tended the Jedi Master's wounds. Anakin said only that the two Jedi had dismissed him, but although he had no idea what they could have been discussing for so long, Padme had a good idea. She could only wait, though, so she had done her best to put it out of her mind.

She'd tried to sleep that night and found herself unable, come out of the queen's chambers to find that door still locked, and she was beginning to feel both useless and frustrated again, so she had made her way here, to the main cabin, to see the recording.

As she viewed the flickering hologram and heard the plea for help with her own ears, she hung her head, almost overwhelmed by the hopelessness of the situation. She had been trained to lead and govern the people of Naboo. She had led them to this, and now unless she could convince the Senate to help, her home and millions of lives would be lost.

A faint rustling noise behind her drew her attention, and she turned to see Anakin huddled on the floor, his face wet with tears. She went over to him, kneeling quietly at his side. He didn't speak, merely looked up at her, shivering and miserable.

"Are you all right, Ani?" she asked him softly.  
"It's very cold," he whispered whisper.  
She smiled and removed the heavy red overjacket of her handmaiden's disguise, wrapping it around his shoulders, then tucked it about him. "You're from a warm planet, Annie. Space is cold."  
Anakin nodded, pulling the jacket tighter. Then he brushed at his eyes. "You seem sad."

"The queen is worried. Her people are suffering, dying. She must convince the Senate to intervene, or else..." She trailed off, unwilling to speak the words. "I'm not sure what will happen."

"I'm not sure what's going to happen to me, either," he admitted worriedly. "I don't know if I'll ever see my mother again."

Padme smiled and combed her fingers through her hair. "Obi-Wan will take care of you, Ani."

"I think he's in trouble again," Anakin observed. "They've been in there a long time."

She sighed softly and gave a reluctant nod. "He may be. But it isn't your fault, Ani. It has nothing to do with you. He and Qui-Gon both think you're a very special boy."

Anakin took a breath and started to say something, slipping his hand into his pocket. Then his brow furrowed for a long moment, his shoulders slumped, and a defeated look crossed his face. "Obi-Wan thinks you're very special too."

That brought a smile to her lips. "Did he tell you that?"

Anakin shook his head. "He doesn't have to."

"Well," Padme's smile widened. "Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome," he said with just a hint of regret.

Padme let her finger drift downward to caress his cheek. "Many things will change when we reach Coruscant, Ani. My caring for you will not be one of them."

"I know. I won't stop caring for you, either. Only—" he broke off, lower lip quivering.

"You miss your mother," Padme supplied with an understanding nod. Then she drew him against her chest and held him until his tears subsided. When he had quieted, she stood up and took him by the hand, leading him back to the small cabin where he had been given a bunk along with Jar Jar and Ric Olie.

His crying had exhausted him, and it was only a moment or two before he closed his eyes and drifted off. Padme stood watching him for a minute, then sighed softly and was about to turn around when the hair on the back of her neck rose. She closed her eyes, feeling her heart begin to beat frantically, and drew in a long breath. Then she turned, beset with the feeling that her entire life hinged on what would take place in the next few seconds.

Obi-Wan's eyes moved questioningly from her to Anakin and back. She mouthed the word asleep, and he nodded, moving back into the central cabin. Padme followed him smoothly, making certain that nothing in her expression or her body language betrayed the nervousness she felt. He halted beside the console where she had just viewed Sio Bibble's message, turning to look at her. Finally, her reserve failed her, and she rushed forward, wrapping him in the fierce, desperate hug that she had been longing to give him for hours.

"I was so frightened," she told him, whispering against his ear.

"I'm all right," he promised, his own arms winding around her in return.

Hot tears began to slip down her cheeks. Quivering, she felt him press his lips against her temple. The truth was, she was still afraid—terrified that she would soon lose him, and she had no idea how she could simply go back to the life she had lived before. It all seemed gray and, colorless, as if she had experienced everything through a layer of gauze that had dulled her senses and left her able to feel only a pale hint of the emotions that he evoked in her.

"I love you," she wept, wanting to say so much more, yet knowing that it was all she could ever say—knowing that if she tried to hold him where he didn't want to stay, she would betray everything she felt for him.

"I love you too!" he whispered, so fervently that it took her breath away. Then he stepped back, cupping her face in his hands. "I…have something for you."

She stared, searching his face, for a long moment not even aware that she was not breathing. She had been afraid that just talking to Qui-Gon would be enough to convince him that his feelings for her weren't important. He smiled, hopeful, hesitant, full of his own apprehension, and finally she let loose the breath she had been holding.

"You do?"

He nodded.

She frowned a bit as he reached into his pocket, then her entire body went cold at the sight of the bracelet. She gaped, then flushed, staring from it to him. Tears misted her eyes again.

"How did you…?"

He coughed, slightly embarrassed. "Well, Anakin loaned me the credits, actually."

"You're kidding," she grinned.

"No…?" his face flushed.

"Obi-Wan," she beamed, slipping her hand onto his cheek. "That is the finest compliment I have ever been paid."

"What…?"

"Thank you," she whispered as she leaned forward, tilting her face upward to brush her lips against his cheek where her hand had been a moment before.


	22. Showers

_Ka'andesi are a people who love tradition. Some say it's in their blood. Modern skeptics can only roll their eyes. My father could tell them a thing or two, but he's too modest…  
—Reflections on the Ka'andesi Home Life, by Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear._

Obi-Wan's mind and body exploded as her lips brushed his cheek with all the silken voluptuousness he remembered from his dream. He closed his eyes, and it took every shred of ingrained Jedi teaching and discipline he possessed not to turn his head into that kiss. He wanted it—wanted _her_—and in a wave of desire that wasn't his but mingled with and fanned the heat that once again flooded through him, he understood that _she_ wanted his mouth on hers. More than that…

"Here," he forced himself to step back, his voice shaking as he spoke the word. "Let me put it on for you."

Padme slowly opened her eyes, staring at him without comprehension for a moment. Then her eyes flicked downward to the bracelet in his hand. She bit her lip, suddenly nervous, and gave a little nod, holding out her arm.

It only took him a few seconds to push up the loose sleeve of her handmaiden's dress and affix the bracelet to her wrist. The clasp, which seemed as though it should have been a rather complicated affair, was surprisingly intuitive. He was glad of that, since he had no experience with fastening bracelets, and he had no particular desire to further embarrass himself by fumbling with beaded hooks.

"Thank you," she murmured, looking down at it in obvious admiration.

"You're welcome."

She continued to look at it for a few more seconds, until he felt his face begin to flush again, this time with a mix of pleasure and self-consciousness. Then, reluctantly she brought her eyes back up to meet his. The brightness in them faded a bit, and he felt a familiar cool settle over him as reality began to creep back in on them.

"What did Qui-Gon say?" she asked sadly.

"He advised me to think carefully before making a choice, but that I would have to make one, and when I did it couldn't easily be undone. Oddly enough, he…didn't seem entirely disinclined to believe me when I told him that I felt the Force had drawn us together," he replied.

"Was he as upset as you thought he'd be?" she asked.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan shook his head dubiously. "He seemed to accept what I was telling him, but that is the Jedi way. What cannot be changed must be accepted, and my actions are mine. He can't make my decisions for me. He…"

"What?" she frowned.

Obi-Wan hesitated, unsure whether to voice the rest of what his teacher had said. This was actually part of an old argument between the pair, and he wasn't sure how much of Qui-Gon's last words to him were meant to advise and how much were simply spoken to make a point. Given what he had told Padme on Tatooine, he feared that it might show his mentor in an unflattering light, and whatever philosophical or personal differences the pair had, he felt an intense loyalty and devotion to the man who had taught him so much. At last he sighed.

"He says my first duty is to follow the will of the Force, and if the Jedi Code does not happen to coincide with the leadings of the Force, it is the Code which needs to be adjusted."

"That sounds perfectly reasonable to me," Padme said, keeping her voice entirely neutral.

"What's the point of having a code if you can change it every time it isn't convenient?" Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Not when it's inconvenient. When it's proven fallible," she corrected. Then she gave a sigh of her own and her expression grew distant. "So much of what we think is inviolate turns out to be frail and precarious…"

"Padme," he stepped forward again, clasping her hands in his. "We will help your people."

"But what if—the Queen can't convince the Senate to intervene?" she stared at him with a mix of fear and hopelessness.

"Queen Amidala doesn't seem like the type to take no for an answer," Obi-Wan smiled knowingly.

Padme allowed a brief smile. "She isn't. But…"

"I'll help you," he promised.

"I don't want to get you in any more trouble with the Council, Obi-Wan. The Jedi serve the Senate," she said quickly.

He shrugged. "If I am in trouble it's because I got myself into it. My choices are no more in your hands than they are in Qui-Gon's. And in any case, I did just mention that my Master has some odd ideas about where a Jedi's duty lies."

"This is different," she shook her head.

"No, it isn't. Well, except that we're talking about me and not Qui-Gon. But I can't imagine that he would let your people continue to suffer either, no matter what orders we were given. The only difference is that usually I wouldn't be so quick to agree with his decision," he said with a touch of irony.

------

Unlike other buildings in the vast sprawl of Coruscant, the Jedi Temple stood alone. A colossal pyramid with multiple spires rising skyward from its flat top, it sat apart from everything at the end of a broad promenade linking it with bulkier, sharper-edged towers in which solitude and mediation were less likely to be found. Within the Temple moved the Jedi Knights and their students, the whole of the order engaged in contemplation and study of the Force: in codification of its dictates, in mastery of its disciplines, and in training to serve the greater good that it embodied.  
The Jedi Council room dominated a central portion of the complex. The Council itself was in session, its doors closed, its proceedings hidden from the eyes and ears of all but fifteen people. Twelve of them—some human, some nonhuman—comprised the Council: a diverse and seasoned group who had gravitated to the order from both ends of the galaxy. The final two Jedi, present for the second time that day, were Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi. With them now was Anakin Skywalker, who had recently been tested by the Council despite his considerable age. This had been done at Qui-Gon's insistence, once the Council had ordered them to remain with Queen Amidala's entourage to protect her, and Obi-Wan's feelings in the matter of Anakin's training remained ambivalent.

He had witnessed Anakin's victory at the Boonta Eve Classic and he had felt no small measure of the boy's largely untapped Force potential. He cared for Anakin, certainly, and he would keep the promise that he had given to Shmi. That said, he had made no guarantee that Anakin would be trained in the Jedi Arts, and the Council's initial reluctance to even test the boy only increased his own reticence. He had also felt the conflict within the boy. Anakin was wrestling with his parentage, with his separation from his mother, his friends, and his home. Especially his mother. He was old enough to appreciate what might happen, and the result was an uncertainty that worked within him like a caged animal seeking to break free. Obi-Wan knew that such feelings could not be tamed by any outside influence, even the most accomplished Jedi teachers. It could be mastered only from within. The Council believed Anakin Skywalker was too old for this, that his thinking and his beliefs were too settled to be safely reshaped. He was vulnerable to his inner conflict, and the Dark Side would be quick to take advantage of this.

Qui-Gon was absolutely convinced, despite the short time that the two of them had been acquainted, that Anakin was the fulfillment of ancient prophecy—the so called Chosen One, whose destiny it was to bring balance to the Force. Obi-Wan was not so certain, not yet, and in point of fact, he wasn't even sure he knew what it meant to "bring balance to the Force." Wasn't the Force intrinsically balanced?

Carefully keeping the frown off of his face, Obi-Wan brought his attention back to the present. The seats of the twelve Council members formed a circle facing inward to where Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood. The room was circular and domed, supported by graceful pillars spaced between broad windows open to the city. Beyond them, the light was pale and wan as twilight replaced sunset, and night began its slow descent across the capital. The shape of the room and the seating of the Council itself reflected the Jedi belief in the equality of and interconnection between all things. In the world of the Jedi, the balance of life within the Force was the pathway to understanding and peace.

The three visitors stood in the mosaic circle beyond those chairs, which formed a speaker's platform for those who addressed the Council. Qui-Gon kept his hands on Anakin's shoulders while Obi-Wan stood to one side, slightly apart from them. Anakin cast a nervous glance at him, and nodded slightly, moving his own eyes back to the Council and indicating that the boy should do the same.

Finished, we are, with our examination of the boy," Yoda advised in his guttural, whispery voice. His eyes were lidded and appeared sleepy, though Obi-Wan knew better, his pointed ears pricked forward. "Correct, you were, Qui-Gon. Mace Windu nodded his concurrence, his dark, smooth face expressionless in the dim light. "His cells contain a very high concentration of midichlorians."

"The Force is strong in him," Ki-Adi-Mundi agreed.  
"He is to be trained, then," Qui-Gon said. It was not a question.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the Council members looked from one to the other.  
"No," Mace Windu said quietly. "He will not be trained."  
Anakin's face crumpled, and there were tears in his eyes as he glanced quickly at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan purposely did not react, nor did he acknowledge the twinge of hurt he felt that it was Qui-Gon to whom the boy turned. Jealousy was beneath him, unbecoming a Jedi, and unworthy of his Master. Quickly and with finality, he expunged the feeling.

"No?" Qui-Gon repeated, clearly shocked.

Master Windu nodded, dark eyes steady. "He is too old. There is already too much anger in him."

"He is the chosen one," he insisted vehemently. "You must see it!"  
Yoda cocked his round head contemplatively. "Clouded, this boy's future is. Masked by his youth."  
Qui-Gon searched the faces of the other members of the Jedi Council, but found no help. He straightened and nodded his acceptance of their decision, but the burgeoning relief Obi-Wan felt at that acceptance was short-lived.

"Very well. I will train him then. I take Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan learner."

Obi-Wan stiffened with shock. Eyes wide, he turned to look at his Master, but Qui-Gon's attention was still fixed on the Council, and he did nothing to acknowledge his protégé's surprise. Anakin was watching the Master as well, his expression distinctly hopeful. Another flash of hurt passed through Obi-Wan, but he pushed it aside.

"An apprentice, you already have, Qui-Gon," Yoda pointed out sharply.

"Impossible, to take on a second."

"We forbid it," Mace Windu advised darkly.

"Not for long, I think," Qui-Gon said without the slightest hesitation.

Obi-Wan felt himself go cold. Then the Council turned its collective gaze on him, and he flushed. He made no response, though. What could he say? Though he had done nothing that could be considered a violation of his commitment to the Jedi Order, he had acknowledged a romantic attachment to Padme. Still, he had made no decision to leave, and he felt his confidence had been betrayed.

"Obi-Wan is ready to face the Trials," Qui-Gon said.

"Wha…?" Obi-Wan continued to stare at his Master. Then he shook himself out of his daze, feeling chagrinned. He should not have been so quick to assume to worst of Qui-Gon. Now, though he wasn't entirely convinced of what he was saying in light of everything that had taken place on Tatooine, he felt the need to support his mentor. Perhaps Qui-Gon's show of faith in him was because the elder Jedi understood something he did not.

"I am ready to face the Trials," he asserted.

Yoda's sleepy eyes shifted. "Ready so early, are you? What know you of ready?"

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged looks, and the younger Jedi shrank back a bit, unwilling to challenge Yoda. Qui-Gon felt no such compunction. He took a deep breath, turning to address the Grand Master directly.

"Obi-Wan is headstrong, and he has much to learn still about the living Force, but he is capable. There is little more he will learn from me," he said.

Yoda shook his wizened face. "Our own counsel we will keep on who is ready, Qui-Gon. More to learn, he has."

"Now is not the time for this," Mace Windu stated with finality. "The Senate will vote tomorrow for a new supreme chancellor. Queen Amidala returns home, we are advised, which will put pressure on the Federation and could widen the confrontation. Those responsible will be quick to act on these new events."

"Drawn out of hiding, her attackers will be," Yoda murmured.

"Events are moving too fast for distractions such as this," Ki-Adi-Mundi added.

Mace Windu took a quick look about at the others sitting on the Council, then turned once more to Qui-Gon. "Go with the Queen to Naboo and discover the identity of this dark warrior who attacked you, be it Sith or otherwise. That is the clue we need to unravel this mystery."

Yoda's nod was slow and brooked no argument. "Decided later, young Skywalker's fate will be."


	23. Downpour

_When the Ka'andesi make war, they hide their faces. When the Ka'andesi make love, nothing is disguised._

—Ka'andesi Sayings On Love, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear

Padme sat stiffly on Queen Amidala's shipboard throne, which rested on a raised dais that was set against one wall. two of her handmaidens, Rabe and Eirtae, flanking her. Before them stood Obi-Wan, his master, Captain Panaka, and Jar Jar Binks. The young queen had convened a meeting almost as soon as the transport had entered hyperspace. Following an unexpected revelation from Jar Jar, she had conceived a plan which she thought would offer her people a chance. She would have liked to discuss that plan with Obi-Wan, but there had been no chance for her to do so. He and Qui-Gon had arrived only moments before she and her entourage reached the landing platform, and there was no opportunity for her to be alone with the Padawan. Her white-painted face was composed and her gaze cool as it met his own, but her words masked a growing uncertainty.

"When we land on Naboo," she advised the Jedi Master after he had bowed and taken up a position next to Panaka, "it is my intention to act on this invasion at once. My people have suffered enough. "

Panaka could barely contain himself, his dark face tight with anger. "When we land, Your Highness, the Trade Federation will arrest you and force you to sign their treaty!"

"I agree. I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish by this," Qui-Gon told her.

"The Naboo are going to take back what is ours."

"There are only twelve of us! Your Highness," Panaka reminded her, his tone urgent. "We have no army!"

Her eyes shifted to Qui-Gon.

"The Jedi cannot fight a war for you, Your Highness," he advised. "We can only protect you."  
She let her gaze drift from them to settle on Jar Jar. The Gungan was studying his toes. "Jar Jar Binks!"

Jar Jar, clearly caught off guard, stiffened and came forward hesitantly. "Mesa, Your Highness?"

"Yes," Amidala of the Naboo affirmed. "I have need of your help."

Jar Jar had told her earlier that the Gungans were a warrior race. This fact was entirely unknown to the Naboo, as was the existence of what Jar Jar termed a "grand army." It turned out that he had been banished and was reluctant to return to the Gungan capital. Faced with a request to approach his people on behalf of the Queen, however, he was nervous, but he could not refuse. Panaka was skeptical but mollified, at least for the moment, and since the Jedi had been directed to protect her no matter what course she chose to pursue, she called the meeting to a close. Panaka and Jar Jar left, with Qui-Gon moving off after them, but Obi-Wan lingered.

With a gesture, Padme dismissed the handmaindens as well. She had revealed her secret to him—or at least intended to do so—the night before. As it turned out, he had already guessed her identity, but she was too uncomfortable over having deceived him to actually feel any annoyance. Now, once the door had sealed itself behind her servants, he strode forward, mounting the dais to stand beside her. She reached for his hand, and he gave it freely, but his expression was tight and etched with lines of concern. Some of it, she sensed, was for her and the people of Naboo. Not all, though, and that meant that something had gone wrong this afternoon. Anakin had told her—unknowingly—that he was going to be tested by the Jedi Council, but that was all she knew.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I think so. The Council has decided not to allow Anakin to be trained. Qui-Gon is probably going to train him anyway," he explained.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, reaching upward to remove the weighty headdress she wore.

He moved to help her, his eyes widening as he felt the weight of the ornate piece. "My word, this is heavy."

"They all are," she nodded, watching as he turned and placed it on the floor beside the throne.

"How do you keep your head up?" he wanted to know.

"Practice, I guess," she smiled.

"Well, you must have a stiff neck," he murmured, leaning closer as he slipped his arm around her shoulders and began to massage the taut muscles with strong, skillful fingers.

"Mmm," she let out a sigh, her head dropping forward as his fingers worked their way up her neck.

"Perhaps you should learn the ways of the Force," he commented teasingly. "Then you wouldn't have to support that kind of weight on your shoulders."

"It would still be on my shoulders," she sighed softly.

"That wasn't quite what I meant," he said. "But you are right."

"Do you think this will work?"

"I don't know. It's difficult to say. It all depends on whether the Gungans are willing to throw in their lot with you—"

"Well, they don't have much choice," she pointed out more sharply than she had intended. "The Trade Federation won't leave them alone for long."

"I know, Padme," he replied softly. "But good luck convincing them of that. Qui-Gon and I were down there before we ended up in Theed. They are not exactly the most open minded or gregarious race, Jar Jar aside. You should also consider that we don't really know how big this grand Gungan army is either."

"Well," Padme nodded, taking a slow breath, "The irony of the situation is that we have no more choice than the Gungans do. And I am not prepared to sit by and watch my people suffer and die."

"I'm not suggesting you should be," said Obi-Wan. 

"I know. You're just being honest. I guess I'm just not as confident as I have to sound," she confessed.

"Well," he offered. "I have no easy answer, but I can promise that I will be with you."

-------

Obi-Wan left alone, heading up to the main cabin, which was one level up from the Queen's audience chamber. Her personal chambers were attached to it, so Padme slipped back there to change. Padme, Eirtae, and Rabe would all be trading their crimson hooded cloaks and gowns for more functional trousers, tunics, boots, and long- waisted overcoats. Each would have blasters strapped to their waists. Panaka had made sure that Padme was as well-trained in self defense and in the use of the weapon she carried as any of her handmaidens. All that was simply part of the disguise. Still, she felt a measure of security in the fact that Obi-Wan knew who she was.

She went out into the main cabin looking for him, but paused in the entryway when she caught sight of him with Anakin. The boy's face was dark and troubled, his brows deeply furrowed as he regarded the Padawan. Padme couldn't see Obi-Wan's expression from where she was standing. At her vantage point, his back was facing her, but she knew that posture well, arms crossed in front of him, his head dipped contemplatively so that his chin touched his chest.

"I don't want to be any trouble," Anakin was saying.

"You aren't, Anakin," Obi-Wan assured him.

"But you and Qui-Gon…" the boy protested, trailing off uncertainly.

"He seems to feel that I am ready to face the Trials," Obi-Wan replied. "I hardly see how that is your doing."

Anakin tilted his head knowingly. "He wouldn't have said that if I wasn't here. It's because the Council won't allow me to be trained."

"Nevertheless. He would not have said it at all if he thought it was untrue," said Obi-Wan flatly. "Put it out of your mind."

"You sure?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, starting to walk off, but Anakin turned with him, extending his hand.

"So, we're still friends then?"

Obi-Wan paused, having caught sight of Padme when he started to turn away, and a half smile touched his lips. He reached down and clasped the hand that Anakin offered, giving a slight nod.

"Friends," he chuckled.

-------

Deep in the Naboo swamps, at the edge of the lake that bored downward to the Gungan capital city of Otoh Gunga, the fugitives from the Queen's transport were grouped at the water's edge, waiting for the return of Jar Jar Binks. Sabe in her guise as Amidala, Padme with the handmaidens, Panaka leading small contingent of Naboo pilots and guards, the two Jedi and Anakin Skywalker, all clustered uneasily in the misty silence. Of everyone there, only Padme and Obi-Wan knew exactly what she was planning. All she had been willing to reveal to the others was that she wished to form an alliance with the Gungans and that Jar Jar would act as her emissary to them. She had insisted on landing in the swamp, even after both Panaka and Qui-Gon had advised against it.

A single battleship orbited the planet, all that remained of the Trade Federation blockade. Housed within was the control station responsible for directing the droid army that occupied Naboo. When Panaka wondered aloud at the absence of the other battleships, Qui-Gon pointed out rather dryly that you don't need a blockade once you control the port.

Some time later, a dark shape broke the surface of the lake with a splash, and Jar Jar Binks climbed from the lake, shaking water from his amphibious skin. Long ears dripping, billed mouth shedding water like a duck's, he shook his head worriedly. "Tis nobody dere! Deys all gone! Some kinda fight, deys have. Maccaneks, mebbe. Very bombad. Otoh Gunga empty. All Gungans gone. All gone."

"Do you think they have been taken to the camps?" Panaka asked quickly, glancing around at the group.

"More likely they were wiped out," Obi-Wan said. "The Trade Federation has no reason to keep them alive."

But Jar Jar shook his head. "Mesa no think so. Gungans too smart. Go into hiding. When dey in trubble, go to sacred place. Maccaneks no find dem dere."

Qui-Gon stepped forward. "Sacred place?" he repeated. "Can you take us there, Jar Jar?"  
The Gungan sighed heavily, as if to say "Here we go again," and beckoned for them to follow.

They traversed the swamp for a long time, first skirting the lake, then plunging deep into a forest of massive trees and tall grasses, following a water-screened pathway that connected a series of knolls. Somewhere in the distance, Trade Federation STAPs buzzed and whined as a search for the fugitives commenced in earnest. Jar Jar glanced about apprehensively as he picked his way through the mire, but did not slow.

Finally, they emerged in a clearing of marshy grasses and stands of trees with roots tangled so thickly they formed what appeared to be an impassable hedge. Jar Jar stopped, sniffed the air speculatively, and nodded.

"Dissen it."

He lifted his head and made a strange chittering noise though his billed mouth, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The group waited, eyes searching the misty gloom. Suddenly Captain Tarpals and a scouting party of Gungans riding kaadu emerged from the haze, electropoles and energy spears held at the ready.

"Heydey ho, Cap'n Tarpals," Jar Jar greeted cheerfully.

"Binks!" the Gungan warrior exclaimed in disbelief. "Notta gain!"

Jar Jar shrugged with apparent nonchalance. "We come ta see da Boss!"

Tarpals rolled his eyes. "Ouch time, Binks. Ouch time for alla yous, mebbe. "

Herding them together, with the riders on kaadu providing a perimeter escort, Tarpals led them deeper into the swamp. The canopy formed by the limbs of the trees became so thick that the sky and the sun almost disappeared. Bits and pieces of statuary began to surface, crumbling stone facades and plinths sinking in the mire. Vines snaked their way across the broken remains, dropping down from limbs that twisted and wound together in vast wooden nets.

Pushing through a high stand of saw grass, they arrived in a clearing filled with Gungan refugees—beings of all ages and descriptions, huddled together on a broad, dry rise, many with their possessions gathered around them. Tarpals led the company past the refugees to where the ruins of what had once been a grand temple were being slowly reclaimed by the swamp. Platforms and stairs were all that remained intact, the columns and ceilings having long ago collapsed and broken apart. The massive heads and limbs of stone statues poked out of the mire, fingers clutching weapons and eyes staring sightlessly into space.

At the far end of the ruins, Boss Nass appeared, lumbering out of shadows with several more of the Gungan council to stand atop a stone head partially submerged in the water. The decoy queen and her retinue approached to within hailing distance over a network of causeways and islands.  
"Jar Jar Binks, whadda yousa doen back?" Boss Nass rumbled angrily. "Yousa suppose ta take dese outlanders and no come back! Yousa pay good dis time!" The fleshy head swiveled. "Whosa yousa bring here ta da Gungan sacred place?"

Sabe stepped forward at once. "I am Amidala, Queen of the Naboo."

"Naboo!" Boss Nass thundered. "No like da Naboo! Yousa bring da maccaneks! Dey bust up our homes! Dey drive us all out!" A heavy arm lifted, pointing at the Queen. "Yousa all bombad! Yousa all die, mebbe!"

"We wish to form an alliance with you," Sabe tried again.

"We no form nutten wit da Naboo!" Boss Nass roared angrily.

Abruptly Padme detached herself from the others and stepped in front of the decoy. "You did well, Sabe. But I will have to do this myself," she said quietly, and turned to face Boss Nass.

"Whosa dis?" the head Gungan snapped.

"I am Queen Amidala. Sabe serves from time to time as my decoy, my loyal bodyguard. I am sorry for my deception, but given the circumstances, I am sure you can understand." She turned slightly, her eyes moving from Qui-Gon to Anakin. "Gentlemen, I apologize for misleading you."  
Then, quickly, she returned her gaze to Boss Nass, who was frowning suspiciously, clearly not understanding any of what was happening. "Although our people do not always agree, Your Honor, we have always lived in peace. Until now. The Trade Federation, with its tanks and its 'maccaneks,' has destroyed all that we have worked so hard to build. The Gungans are in hiding, and the Naboo have been imprisoned in camps. If we do not act quickly, all that we value will be lost forever. I ask you to help us. I beg you to help us," As she spoke these words, Padme Amidala dropped to one knee in front of the astonished leader of the Gungans. There was an audible gasp of surprise from the Naboo. "We are your humble servants, Your Honor. Our fate is in your hands. Please help us."

She motioned, and one by one, her handmaidens, Panaka, and the Naboo pilots and guards dropped to their knees beside her. Anakin and the Jedi were the last to join them.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then a slow, deep rumble of laughter rose out of the throat of Boss Nass. "Ho, ho, ho! Me like ills! Dis good! Yous no think yous greater den da Gungans!"The head Gungan came forward, reaching out with one hand. "Yousa stand, Queen Amidoll. Yousa talk wit me, okay? Mebbe wesa gonna be friends after all!"


	24. Lightning

There is an intentional adaption of Qui-Gon's death and the scenes leading up to it from _One Path_ during the correlating scenes in _Happy Endings. _ The reasons for that will become apparent. The explanation is actually in the chapter's intro if you can puzzle it out. Please refrain from commenting to tell me that I copied my own story. There are differences, albeit **apparently** slight ones.  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_The Ka'andesi have funny ideas about time and space. They say the future is an infinite web of possibilities, and sometimes those possibilities touch. I'm not entirely sure what that means, except to say that there are some events which seem to shape things to come so profoundly that, no matter which road is taken, eventually I will find myself at exactly the same place that the person I might have been saw in a future that never was.  
—Seeing and Knowing: A Memoir of a World in Shadow, by Lared and Inalia Kenobi_

"They're back!" Anakin shouted, racing toward where Obi-Wan stood beside Padme, discussing strategy with his Master, and the Gungan generals. The group turned to see Captain Pananka and the rest of his troops scramble out of speeders and move toward them.

He did not think the battle could be won. The majority of their people were in camps, and though some loyal guards and police had formed a resistance, the Trade Federation army was much more powerful than they had anticipated.

"I don't intend to win it, Captain. The battle is a diversion," Padme said determinedly. Obi-Wan knew this already, but he still was not entirely convinced. Still, she was the Queen, and this was her world. His place was only to advise and protect her to the best of his ability. " We need the Gungans to draw the droid army away from Theed, so we can infiltrate the palace and capture the Neimoidian viceroy. The Trade Federation cannot function without its head. Neimoidians don't think for themselves. Without the viceroy to command them, they will cease to be a threat."

Her eyes flicked toward Obi-Wan, then both turned toward his Master, who was considering the plan with a thoughtful expression.

"What do you think, Master Jedi?" she pressed him.

"It is a well-conceived plan, although there is great risk, Your Highness," Qui-Gon responded carefully. "Even with the droid army in the field, the viceroy will be well guarded. And many of the Gungans may be killed."

"Dey bombad guns no get through oursa shields! Wesa ready to do are-sa part!" Boss Nass declared fiercely.

"We could reduce the Gungan casualties by securing the main hangar and sending our pilots to knock out their orbiting control ship. Without the control ship to signal them, the droid army can't function at all," Padme suggested.

"But if the viceroy should escape, Your Highness, he will return with another droid army, and you'll be no better off than you are now," Obi-Wan pointed out, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder as he spoke.

She looked at him with a grim smile. "That is why we must not fail."

He returned the smile with a nod and let the conversation turn back to tactics and positioning. His instinct was to keep Padme out of the fighting altogether, but he forced himself not to voice the impulse, recognizing it for what it was—the fear of losing her, not the simple desire to protect Queen Amidala that _should_ have been driving him. Padme saw participation in the battle as her duty, and he knew better than to try to prevent her from it. She would be as well protected as they could keep her, and with Sabe acting as decoy, she would not be a particular target.

A tug on his sleeve drew him out of his thoughts and he looked down as Anakin squeezed between himself and Padme. "What about me?" he asked hopefully.

"Stay close to Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan instructed. "You'll be safe."

"But I want to help you fight!" the boy protested.

"Not this time, my young friend," the Jedi shook his head firmly.

------

Obi-Wan's pulse raced as she lead the group toward the hangar. They moved through the square as quickly and stealthily as possible, moving smoothly into position. Obi-Wan was directly behind the queen, Qui-Gon a step behind him, with Anakin trailing them.

They paused briefly, and Qui-Gon turned to take the boy by the shoulders. "As soon as we get inside, Ani, find someplace to hide and stay there."

"Sure," he responded.

"And stay there!" Obi-Wan echoed sharply. He knew Anakin well enough by now to realize that no amount of admonition was likely to keep him hidden, yet he was compelled to add his own voice to the warnings anyway. It was he who had given his word to Shmi, after all. Anakin was his responsibility—and his friend.

A smile touched his lips as he watched Padme signal Panaka. The captain opened fire on the battle droids and Padme rushed toward the hangar. Obi-Wan's hand shot out to catch her sleeve again, but his fingers slid down it as she moved brushing over the beaded bracelet to clasp her hand instead. She spun back questioningly, her fingers tightening on his.

"Padme—may the Force be with you," he said, releasing her.

------

"Get to your ships!" he heard Padme order sharply.

Pilots and R2-Units bolted for fighters while she, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and her handmaidens engaged the battle droids. The fighting was fast and intense, but the droids were no real match for the Jedi, and Panaka's forces soon swept in to join them. There was a hasty conference as the two groups came together, and Obi-Wan stepped closer to her, quickly and quietly assuring himself that she was unharmed.

"My guess is the Viceroy's in the throne room," she said briskly.

"I agree," replied Qui-Gon

They started toward the exit when a familiar whistle sounded, and Anakin peeked up from inside the cockpit of an unused fighter. "Hey, wait for me!" he called.

"No, Ani, you stay right in that cockpit!" Qui-Gon ordered, already aware, as Obi-Wan himself was, of the approach of the Dark presence of their Sith adversary. Yoda had been right about the enemy being drawn out in the open here, and the Padawan suspected that his Master had known when the Sith would appear for some time.

"But I…"

"Stay in that cockpit!" Obi-Wan echoed his Master's command as he readied himself for the real battle to come.

The black-robed figure swept into the hangar, scattering the group. Padme, Panaka, and the troops backed off, allowing Obi-Wan and his Master to come forward as the red blades of the Sith weapon flowed to life. He and Qui-Gon had fought together before, but never in a situation such as this, with an adversary whose skill with the weapon of the Jedi Order equaled, perhaps even surpassed Qui-Gon's.

He pushed fear and doubt from his consciousness, pushed out even thoughts of Padme, focusing, as his Master had taught him, on the present—on the Force, on anticipating each move their enemy made. He let Qui-Gon lead, but followed without hesitation, working with him to end the combat quickly, as was the Jedi way.

They pressed in, trying to drive him back, but it became apparent to him that, although they seemed to be succeeding, the Sith was subtly directing the combat. He leapt, whirled and somersaulted in a spectacular display, completely unafraid and full of a hatred that battered the young Jedi's senses. Blue, and green blades flashing and crackling, against the enemy's red, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn stood their ground, patiently waiting for an opening that seemed as though it would never present himself.

They moved through the hangar doors and into a power station, where they fought their way onto the catwalks that hung between the massive generators. Suddenly, the Sith Lord leapt upward, landing on the bridge above the Jedi. They followed, landing on either side to pin him between them, and another clash began. The enemy moved with stunning speed, and Obi-Wan knew that his Master was tiring. He pressed on, determined to find a way to end the combat, but as he drove his saber downward in attempt to pin one end of their adversary's staff, the Sith caught him off guard with a kick so sudden and empowered by the Force that it knocked him entirely off the bridge. He sailed downward, struggling for breath, and landed hard, the momentum carrying him over the edge of one on which he landed.

He let out a grunt, barely managing to grab on with his fingers, and dangled there for several seconds. Above, the clang of boots and clash of light weapons told him that Qui-Gon was still in the game, but he hurriedly hoisted himself up and grabbed his lightsaber, craning his neck to pinpoint the combatants.

He saw Qui-Gon and their enemy above him and drew on the Force to leap onto their level. By the time he landed, they were racing through another door, and he gave chase, thumbing on his saber to engage the Sith again.

He moved through the door and into the corridor beyond, where he skidded to a halt barely in time to avoid striking the glowing red wall of a security force field. Similar ones segmented the entire corridor, cutting off Qui-Gon from their adversary but also permitting him no means of escape.

Obi-Wan waited, watching as his Master sank to his knees. Qui-Gon began to meditate, and Obi-Wan knew that he should do the same. His mind was full of anger and self-blame; helpless frustration. How could he have let himself be taken by surprise like that? Why had Qui-Gon not waited before pursuing their foe? Now the Sith was prowling just beyond their reach, waiting to pick off Qui-Gon in the elder Jedi's weakened state.

There was nothing he could do, though. Nothing but wait. So wait he did, until the force fields were about to shut down again, and then he charged through the corridor, desperate to reach Qui-Gon, who had already sprung to his feet and taken up the battle again. The force fields reactivated just as he reached the last point and he froze again, gritting his teeth as he stood watching the renewed struggle.

Qui-Gon's meditation had given him new energy, strengthened his connection with the Force, but Obi-Wan could see that his Master was still weary, and his stomach tightened with dread as he began to understand that it would not be enough.

_Please_, he pleaded silently. Please, _Qui-Gon, hold on. Just a while more. I'm coming! _

Even as he thought the words, Qui-Gon's weapon came down on the hilt of their enemy's and the Sith shoved him back, pivoting to drive home a blade in a killing blow. Obi-Wan let loose a cry of grief and rage, watching helplessly as Qui-Gon fell and the Sith Lord turned to him with a smugly satisfied smile.

_You're next, _ it seemed to say, _And I'll enjoy it. _

All restraint gone, Obi-Wan barreled through as the force field opened, attacking with ferocity born of pain and grief. Fueled by anger, he matched the Sith blow for blow, leaping over one end of his double-bladed weapon to avoid having his legs cut out from under him, driving his adversary back, and finally severing the hilt of the staff. A kick sent his adversary sprawling, but the Sith recovered and kept hold of one half of his weapon. Lost in rage, Obi-Wan attacked again, beating off every blow his enemy delivered to hammer home his own. Planning and calculation were lost on him. There was only fury and the intense desire to exact revenge. With all the strength of his anger behind it, he leveled an overhead strike, and his blade crashed downward to lock with the red one. He grit his teeth, trying to power the Sith backward, but his enemy raised his free hand, shoving him back with a powerful Force Push.

He found himself sailing backwards, clear off the platform on which he had been fighting, and barely managed to grab a metal rung underneath. He clung precariously, straining to keep himself from falling into the pit below, and lifted his chin to see the leering face of his enemy as the Sith disdainfully kicked Obi-Wan's lightsaber off the ledge above.

His heart sank as he watched it plummet, realizing too late his mistake. He'd given in to anger—done exactly what he'd tried to make Padme understand was so dangerous in Anakin Skywalker. _Anakin, _he realized suddenly. Even if the Naboo succeeded in destroying the droid control satellites, there would be no one left to stop the Sith. The creature above him would ravage what was left of the Naboo, but he would do worse—far worse—to young Anakin. And then there was Padme. Both of them were counting on him.

He felt a spike of fear, and above him the Sith Lord gave a predatory grin, swiping at the rim of the pit in an attempt to dislodge the Padawan's grip. Obi-Wan's eyes fastened on the body of his Master, on the lightsaber beside it, and he heard again the words that Qui-Gon had spoken on their last encounter with the Trade Federation.

_Don't center on your fears. Concentrate on the here and now. _ He drew a breath and focused, reaching outward. _Be mindful of the living Force, my young Padawan. Be strong. _

The lightsaber above began to move, and Obi-Wan bowed his head, gathering the strength of the Force to propel himself upward, flipping to land before the Sith as Qui-Gon's blade smacked into his hand. His stunned opponent only had time to spin and face him. Obi-Wan lashed out, sending the evil being pitching over the edge and into the melting pit below.

Then, he raced toward Qui-Gon, hurriedly kneeling to cradle the failing Jedi's head and shoulders. He could feel the other's life force fading and swallowed convulsively as he heard Qui-Gon echo what he already knew.

"It's—it's too late…"

"No!" he shook his head in vehement refusal.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon called urgently, briefly stilling the sobs that the younger Jedi could already feel breaking from his chest. "Promise. Promise me you will train the boy."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan nodded through the glisten of tears, heedless then of the implications of the promise or anything other than Qui-Gon's wish.

The elder reached up weakly to touch Obi-Wan's face, continuing, "He…is the Chosen One. He…will bring balance. Train him…"

Obi-Wan nodded again, sealing the promise, and Qui-Gon's eyes closed for the last time. Obi-Wan reached to steady his Master's head with his other hand, lowering his forehead to touch the elder's and held him there, softly weeping, until long after the warmth of life had begun to seep away. Finally, though, reluctantly, Obi-Wan Kenobi let go of the man who had been his father and climbed to his feet.


	25. Storm Breaking and IMPORTANT NOTE

_The Ka'andesi say that there are no real endings, only beginnings turned around. Have a care when you close a door. You may soon find it open again. _

—Collected Wisdom of the Ka'andesi Peoples, as told to Inalia Kenobi, Chronicler of the Ch'lliear 

The shrouded body of Qui-Gon Jinn lay in the great hall at the palace in Theed. He was alone now, except for the single, hooded figure of his Padawan who stood sentry over him, as still and utterly silent as a stone. They were bathed in moonlight from the room's high windows, but beyond them, there was only darkness. Padme shivered as she and Anakin slipped inside, unsure what, if anything, she might be able to do for Obi-Wan.

Anakin, who had been clinging to her hand, released it and moved to the Jedi's right side while Padme quietly glided over to his left. She threaded her arm with his and laced their fingers together, and he didn't resist, but he stiffened when she reached up with her other hand and tried to guide his head onto her shoulder.

"Don't," his voice was distant and passionless.

"Obi-Wan," she said slowly. "Letting go of Qui-Gon doesn't mean that you don't grieve."

"I gave him my word, Padme," he said flatly.

"I know that," she nodded, though her chest tightened at the words. "But you still need to grieve."

"I _will_ train Anakin. With or without the Council's approval," he said, seeming for all the world as if her statement had no meaning to him. Perhaps it didn't. Perhaps he simply didn't know _how_ to grieve for his friend and mentor.

"And, if the Council doesn't agree?" she asked hesitantly. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet. We'll decide that when the time comes," he replied.

"You could stay here on Naboo," she offered with a hopeful glance up at his coldly dispassionate expression.

"No."

The word was spoken with such finality that she bowed her head. She didn't cry, though. After all, she was the Queen of Naboo. She had learned well how to keep her feelings behind a mask of impassivity.

"I cannot teach him the Jedi Way, foregoing attachment in favor of service and seeking oneness with the Force if I can't let go myself," he went on.

There was no answer to that. None but a simple promise.

"I won't let go, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Even if you do."

"Why are we doing this?" asked Anakin, running his palm over the top of his recently cut hair.  
He and Obi-Wan sat in the forward compartment of a Republic transport, which was slowly rising from its resting place on the landing platform in Theed. Several other Jedi who had journeyed to Naboo for Qui-Gon's funeral were also aboard, but for the moment, they were all in their own seats, absorbed in private conversations. This left the newly knighted Obi-Wan and his young apprentice largely to themselves.

"Doing what?" Obi-Wan asked, carefully keeping his eyes off the disappearing city of Theed.

"Leaving," Anakin replied.

"We are going to Coruscant," Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. The boy knew that.

"I know _where_ we're going," sighed Anakin impatiently. "Why are we going to Coruscant?"

"Because that's where the Temple is, among other things," Obi-Wan said.

"You want to stay here," Anakin observed.

Obi-Wan knew better than to deny it. "It doesn't matter what I want."

"Why not?"

"Because," Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Because why?"

"_Because_, I gave my word to Qui-Gon _and_ your mother," sighed Obi-Wan.

"Well, why did you give your word if you didn't want to?"

"I did want to."

"No you didn't, you wanted to stay here," Anakin shook his head.

"It is possible to want more than one thing at the same time."

Anakin's brow furrowed. "Oh."

He fell silent for a minute or two, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes gratefully. He assumed that the discussion was over, and he was more than glad of that fact. He didn't think that he would be truly at ease until they were back at the Temple, but at the very least, he wanted to close the door on his feelings for Padme Amidala, and he couldn't do that with his apprentice asking such uncomfortable questions.

"Master."

He opened his eyes, faintly startled. He still wasn't used to being addressed in that manner, and it was even stranger coming from Anakin. The boy's arms were crossed in front of him and he looked back at Obi-Wan with an air of challenge.

"You're picking the wrong one."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow in rebuke. "Is that so, young one?"

"Yes," nodded Anakin firmly.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, massaging his temple with the tips of two fingers to forestall an oncoming headache. He was tempted to issue a stronger reprimand, but suddenly the heart to do so drained out of him. He felt weak, bone-weary, conscious of very little beyond the burning double loss that left a cavernous hole in his chest, and with Anakin against him now as well, he was utterly alone. "I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense."

"That's because you know I'm right," Anakin muttered. "And if being a Jedi means hurting Padme, then I don't want to be one anymore."

Padme dismissed her handmaidens and broke her fast alone on the terrace outside her private chambers in the palace. She was dressed in a simple shift, her hair down around her shoulders, though soon enough she would have to return to her dressing room and don the elaborate attire of Queen Amidala. In the three months since the Jedi had left for Coruscant, she had begun to feel as if her life would never return to normal, despite the return to familiarity in her role as queen.

Sighing, she pushed back her chair and rose from the table, leaving the food before her largely untouched. The sun had recently risen, and the terrace was bathed in a red-gold morning glow that made the young queen's throat ache with longing for another place, a time which was, she supposed, as fragile and insubstantial as the story she had told to Anakin Skywalker.

She'd been right not to give the prince a name, she decided as the warmly lit terrace began to glisten with her unshed tears. Then she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Her arms prickled, and she sucked in a startled breath. To her credit, however, she did not whirl about in surprise but turned with the slow, poised, practiced grace of a queen.

"Obi-Wan," she said softly.

He and Anakin stood in the entryway, Captain Panaka positioned behind them and peering over the Knight's shoulder. She inclined her head slightly, and the security officer withdrew. Obi-Wan didn't move or speak. Anakin reached up, planting a hand on his Master's back, and gave the elder a rather pointed shove forward.

He stumbled a bit but managed not to fall, then turned to reprimand his apprentice. Anakin, however, had already vanished. Padme suspected that he and Panaka had not gone far. Raising his hand to his eyes, Obi-Wan shook his head and turned again, approaching her with painful caution.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he said, offering a formal bow.

She nodded, stomach muscles tightening. Was this an official visit then? The way Anakin had acted made her assume otherwise, but now she wasn't sure. He was nervous, contrite, hopeful…but none of those things meant that he had come with the intent to stay.

"Master Jedi," she said, electing to take the higher course.

He closed the distance between them and stood in silence, seemingly uncertain, not at all the Jedi she expected. "I—was wrong to leave the way I did."

"You…?" her voice quavered a little, and she let the question hang unfinished.

"Will you forgive me?" he whispered.

She could only nod, swallowing convulsively as she attempted to loosen her constricting throat. Obi-Wan reached out, clasping her hand in both of his as if he feared that she might change her mind if he did not. Then his right hand slid upward, caressing the back of her hand, smoothing over her wrist and forearm, and finally moving slowly back down again to rest on the beaded bracelet she still wore. He drew in a ragged breath, and then, as her eyes widened, he sank down on one knee and lifted her wrist to his lips.

"Padme, I don't know about happy endings. I'm not even sure what's going to happen tomorrow. All I know is that I love you, and I don't want to give that up. Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she whispered, nodding vigorously as the tears she had been holding back began to stream down her cheeks. "Yes, Obi-Wan, I will!"

-End note: 

If this was not clear from the extensive author's notes posted on my profile, I apologize. I thought I had stated that Episode I: Happy Endings takes place during the events of The Phantom Menace. Its direct sequel covers the time period between TPM and AotC. Story alerts aren't going to infom readers of when the sequel comes out. However, please feel free to add me to your author alert subscriptions.

Also, I don't know what's going on with the site, but I just noticed that the dashes I've been using for scene divisions and note sections appear to be vanishing. Sorry about that. If anyone knows how to fix the problem, could they let me know?


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